


Slow It Down

by Sincerelywithlove



Category: Imagine Dragons (Band), One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Fate, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, References to Suicide, Suicide, Touring, Triggers, World Travel, lots of adorableness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2017-12-20 06:00:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 43,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sincerelywithlove/pseuds/Sincerelywithlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What do you think of it all?" Louis asks as he straightens out the waves of his hair and checks to make sure he has his ticket for the Manchester show tucked safely in his pocket. </p><p>Zayn leans back against the mirror from his perch on the bathroom sink. His arms are folded over his chest and he looks like Louis' just asked him to punch him in the mouth. "It's all a bit sticky," he begins with a lick of his lips. "It's like driving straight into a wall without any airbags. All you can do is close your eyes and hope for the best because, hell, you hit the brakes the best that you could."</p><p>A fic where Louis' always a little too close to alcohol poisoning and hates stuffed animals with a passion, while Harry's got glasses and sees the end of his book coming a little too soon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Working Man

_Louis Tomlinson, 19 years old_  
 _Resident of Manchester, United Kingdom_  
 _October 14th, 2011_

He hates them. 

He despises their button noses and their plush ears. He wants to light every single one of them on fire and watch their polycotton faux furs burn like light bulbs in the dim factory space. It's almost unhealthy really, the distaste that he has for such stupidly  _cute_ things that everyone else seems to have an affinity for.

The thing is, Louis really hates a lot of things. He just hates stuffed animals more, they take up his time and he's really tired of pricking his fingers with needles when he sews their limbs on. Plus, who even does work like that anymore? His job is obsolete and he would be lying to say that he doesn't beg every moment of his work day for robots to come and take his occupation from him.

It's a dead end; he's stuck and, hell, he would gladly hand off his poorly flat to the next rich bastard wanting to tear it down for a shopping mall just so he could rid himself of glass eyes and stitches. 

"You're loved more than I am, you know that, don't you?" Louis wrinkles his nose as he jabs a needle into the leg of a particularly over stuffed pink elephant. "Some little brat will come along and wipe their grimy hands all over you until their big pocketed parents decide that they should buy you out of convenience to the poor department store. Then, that grimy handed brat will take you home and feed you food that I can't afford. They will probably tuck you into bed with them too, give you a name, and a home," he scoffs as he yanks the needle through the fabric and begins his cross stitching. 

His bottom lip is tugged between his teeth as he seethes, "You're really like a bloody prostitute, you know? You get the high life and then one day you're tossed aside because you're too dirty and, well, a better ragdoll has come along." When he huffs out a breath, he gives the elephant a pitying look, "Well, Duffy, you'll still have it better than me. So, no complaints and you can kindly fuck off." He tosses the finished elephant, dubbed Duffy, into the plastic bin of finished toys beside his work bench. 

"Talking to them will never make them real," a voice teases from a short distance in front of Louis.

Louis lifts his head with a furrowing of his eyebrows. His brown hair is falling over his forehead and covering the wrinkle that he's so sure has formed in the midst of his frequent dissatisfaction. "Wearing your pants that low will never make your dick look bigger," he says with a bat of his blue eyes and a coy tilt of his head.

The boy in front of him grimaces before tugging up his jeans a little. He's got a blue apron covering the majority of his front with  _Sew Me Love_  cheerily monogrammed near the top much like Louis' own apron. His dark hair is splayed across his forehead, although Louis knows he much prefers to quiff it, the factory mug just won't permit such a look. "Pretty sure you're the one with small dick syndrome, Lou," the boy mumbles as he leans on Louis' work bench.

"Zayn," Louis warns with a wave of his needle and thread. He has band aids covering the tips of his fingers by now, the work day nearing its end. "Firing the same insult back only proves my point," he finishes before reaching for a blue dog and another spool of thread. 

"You're going to die alone, you know," Zayn informs him as he nudges at Louis' arms.

Louis nearly stabs his own hand after a few jostles, "I will be sure that you die right next to me, love, if you don't go back to your little bench and keep stuffing the asses of animals so I can rightfully get the hell out of here before it's dark."

His friend chuckles lazily before pinching at Louis' cheeks, "Just think, as soon as you finish today, you'll get to go home and see me again."

"Remind me to have you pack your shit and leave," Louis growls after he swats Zayn's hands away.

"Tomlinson, Malik, I know you two love to chat but this is a work establishment and your follies aren't to be tolerated here," a stout woman calls to them from the overview railing above their heads. 

They avoid looking up. Employee's only make that mistake once. "Yes ma'am," they chorus.

"Think she's actually wearing knickers today?" Zayn whispers to Louis before he begins walking back to his bench.

"You're welcome to look," Louis offers cheerily. "Make sure you check the folds, I'm sure her stuffing is probably covering the fabric," he tries not to think of how easily he can hide such a disgusting comment with the guise of sewing. 

Zayn chokes a bit as he shakes his head, "Rather not need to bleach my eyes." 

A chuckle flutters in Louis' chest as he finishes sewing a leg onto the animal in his grasp. He rubs his sleeve over his damp forehead and ties a knot into his thread, "Don't know why I keep you around."

They finish their work day in silence with Zayn tossing legless animals into Louis' unfinished bin and Louis sewing until his fingers are raw beneath his band aids. Louis tries not to claw their boss' eyes out when she informs them that their payday has been moved back yet  _another_ week. They remove their aprons and place them in their lockers before tugging on their coats. By the time they reach the outdoor air, they realize the sun has faded. 

Deep creases form around Louis' lips as he scowls back at the factory. He doesn't think he's seen the light of day in a few weeks and he blames those stupidly cute button noses and round paws. "Do you think we'll ever get out of here?" he asks blandly after a moment. The sounds of their footsteps shuffle and echo against the buildings they pass as they make the half hour walk back to their flat. 

On Louis' left, his friend is quiet. Zayn ducks his head a little into his scarf, "I can't answer that, Lou."

"You can lie to me some times. It would be pleasant actually," Louis sighs. 

"I won't lie to you. Truth is, some of us don't get out. You've seen Ms. Emily," Zayn voices pointedly. "This could... This could be it for us, Lou. We don't have proper schooling. We don't have rich parents, or parents that will even talk to us for that matter. We are our own dead ends."

Louis wants to punch him in the mouth but he nods anyway because he doesn't want to think about Ms. Emily, the elderly woman that sits to Louis' left and sews on button noses with a smile too wide for her circumstances. He'll be damned if he has to sew children's toys for bare minimum payment for the rest of his life. "Onward we march then, day after day. We wait for our captain -- our saviour to bring us from our depths of despair," Louis sings mockingly as he nudges his shoulder against Zayn's in an attempt to wipe the dreary look from his friend's face. 

"You still want to go out with the lads?" Zayn questions a few moments later. His hands are shoved deep into his pockets as his shoulders slouch up against the wind. 

"Thinking a lads night in actually," Louis relents. He would love to get out, and he knows that they probably should. However, his eyes are beginning to droop and if he were to even try for a lazy bathroom fuck, he would probably fall asleep during it.

Zayn agrees silently and tugs his phone out to inform their friends of the change in plans. "Liam will probably bring pizza," he says tiredly.

"Sounds good," really he means dreadful. Louis is sure that he's eaten pizza at least  _six_  times in the last week, but he won't complain because free food is, well, free. He tucks his needle bitten fingers into the pockets of his coat as they round the final corner to their flat. 

They climb the steps two at a time before letting themselves into their living space. Louis wouldn't dare call it a home but he's grateful for the warmth it attempts to provide. They've got their mattresses stacked in one corner because after their first winter together, they decided that sleeping in the same bed was really just so that they would survive the nights. Their small kitchenette is probably the nicest thing about their flat with its stove and fridge along with its tile and tiny table set. However, its still measly and its really kind of shit but bills are high while pay is low. 

"Do you think I can paint the walls?" Zayn wonders aloud as he sheds his coat and takes a seat at one of their kitchen chairs.

Louis looks around at their four falls before moving their small television from the table to the counter by the sink, "I'd love that." He knows Zayn can't afford the paint, he also knows that Zayn is aware of the fact too, but he thinks that neither of them mention it because some times pretending to be unaware is better than admitting the truth. He straightens the black comforter that covers their mattresses absently before tucking his coat into their poor excuse for a closet. 

Humming fills the flat as Zayn rests his head against the table and Louis washes his face in the bathroom. Louis thinks that this might be why they work together, they easily coexist without forced conversations and feeble words. They simply need each other and know that without each other they probably wouldn't make it very far. 

"Dicks, it's cold," a voice growls through their front door following a serious of frantic knocks. 

"Niall, there are kids on this floor!" another voice hushes the first.

A grin flits over Zayn's face as Louis rolls his eyes. "It's unlocked, as always, you  _dick,_ " Zayn calls to the door.

They watch as the knob turns and reveals Niall and Liam, their two closest friends, bundled up in coats and scarves. "Cold as shit out there," Niall grumbles as he rubs at his arms. His blond fringe is peaking out from beneath a baby blue beanie that Louis vaguely realizes is one of his own. "Do you have to live so far across town? The walk is like the death march of 1944," he continues on as he rubs his gloved hands over his cheeks leaving streaks of red on his skin. 

"Oooh, someone actually paid attention in his European Wars class," Liam rolls his hazel eyes with unimpressed waves of his hands. He's got a homemade scarf of grey and navy wound around his neck, and the boys don't have to ask to know that it is a gift from Liam's most frequent prospect, Danielle. There's a white box of pizza in his grasp as he attempts to remove his coat.

"Is our humble abode not enough for you now? Too high class, are we? Need some bubbly water, sir?" Louis mocks as he pulls a mug down from the cabinet and fills it with tap water before attempting to blow bubbles without a straw. 

Zayn and Liam huff out a few laughs as Niall scowls and tosses his coat onto their mattress pile. "Bunch of dickheads..." Niall mutters as he trudges over to sit at the table beside Zayn. Liam follows shortly after him and sets the box of pizza in the center. 

"How has uni been then?" Zayn asks as Louis takes a seat and tugs two slices from the pizza box. His tone is light but Louis thinks that Zayn _doesn't_  really want to know -- that the information probably hurts him just as much as it hurts Louis because they just can't have what Liam and Niall do. 

Liam takes a slice from the box and takes a few tentative bites of the greasy food before answering, "I've found that I have to drop my Statistics class or I'll fail and my grade point average will dwindle. It's a shame really, that's the one class that I have with Danielle."

"What a shame," Niall rolls eyes as he mumbles around a mouthful of cheese and marinara ridden bread. "My grades have been in the shitter since the beginning. My teachers have it out for me, really. My Humanities professor won't even let me bring donuts to class. It's like he doesn't realize that six o'clock morning classes require nutritional motivation," he continues as he takes a sip of the water Louis had poured.

"Nutritional motivation? Niall, you should really just drop out now because your future is going to be riding in a red sleigh with reindeer," Zayn chortles before taking a bite of melted cheese. 

Louis knows that Zayn really means to say  _you're being an ungrateful dickhead._ He folds his pizza longways and shoves the end into his mouth before he can say anything that he might regret. 

Grumbles fill the air around them and the sound of munching resonates from each of them as they try to maneuver the last piece of pizza from the grabby hands of each other. "So, my friend, the one that's interning with BBC Radio 1, got tickets to that American band's European tour. The radio people want him to follow the band because it's their first time being over here, or whatever, and they're paying for publicity," Niall interjects just as Louis gets his hands on the last slice.

"Oh?" Zayn encourages tiredly.

"Imagine Lizards, or something like that, but he's asking to take me along. The tour starts in two weeks. It's all free," Niall continues with a extravagant waving of his hands. Grease lines his fingers and there is marinara sauce on his lips. 

Louis stills, the slice of pizza barely nearing his mouth, "Imagine  _Dragons_ _?"_

"Yeah! That's it. That's what it was," Niall laughs with a point in Louis' direction. 

The last slice of pizza is long forgotten as Louis drops it onto the box where Zayn swipes it from Liam's reach moments later. "You,  _you little dick_ , are going to get to follow  _Dan fucking Reynolds_ around Europe for histour," Louis seethes.

"Looks like it," Niall pouts out his bottom lip and tilts his head. "Are they any good?"

 _Are they any good._ Louis is going to murder the little shit sitting across from him; he's going to chop him up and sew him into the bodies of those stupid plush toys at the factory. "Are they any good?" Louis sputters as he stands and Zayn gives an exasperated sigh because he knows where this is going. "They're brilliant. Probably the only music from the states that isn't utter rubbish. There's Ben Mckee, the bassist, Wayne "Wing" Sermon, the lead guitarist, and then Dan Platzman on drums. I can't forget the beautiful, lead singer, Dan Reynolds. They have brilliant EP on top of extravagant EP. Then, they bloody produced  _Night Visions_ , probably the best album of their careers. I've been  _waiting_  to get tickets to those shows. I offered my body to five different elderly women in this damn building trying to get the money!" he ends with an indignant huff.

Their two friends are staring at him as if he's just admitted to being a girl that unfortunately never grew tits. "They didn't take you up on your offer, did they?" Liam asks after a moment of silence, his eyebrows furrowed in concern.

Louis drops his hands to his sides dramatically with an exasperated sigh, "No, I haven't really turned to prostitution,  _Liam_."

"Good, good," Liam relaxes his shoulders and runs his fingers threw his honey hair.

"Well, Lou, I promise you that if for some reason I can't go, I will be sure to hand the tickets directly to you," Niall gives him this sheepish grin and, really, Louis can't stay upset with him.

He nods his head and rubs at his eyes. Louis knows that this is how things are, Niall and Liam get handed things and, well, Zayn and Louis just  _don't_. 

They move from the table and curl onto the pile of mattresses, no longer caring for their personal space, as Zayn sets the television back onto the table. "What are you going to do about your classes if you go?" Louis asks as his eyes struggle to focus on the show Zayn's chosen. 

Niall's soft snores against his chest as his blond hair brushes Louis chin are his only replies. 

"Right..." Louis relents as Zayn curls in between himself and Liam. He dozes off to the tune of a fake audience's laughter and Zayn grumbling for Liam to rub his shoulders. 

_October 15th, 2011  
Morning_

" _WOAH OH OH! Should I trust my heart or my head? I wish I could just replay the thoughts of things I never said. But, if we're laying it on the line this time... I better say this now. You make me feel low!"_ is what screams in Louis' face to wake him up. Zayn's phone is next to his head and Louis swears that he will murder Zayn if he doesn't wake up to turn the damn alarm off. " _Don't make me feel low! 'Cause I've tried so hard to convince myself it's okay to feel this way."_

"ZAYN!" Louis hisses as he turns over, jostling Niall in the process, and slams his palm down against Zayn's cheek.

The affronted lad cracks his eyes open with a dangerous stare as he reaches out to silence his phone, " _Louis._ "

Niall chuckles sleepily as Liam slips off the mattress to find a safe space a few feet away. "You've done it now, Lou," Niall rolls off of the mattress and settles back into a nest of coats, his eyes slipping closed again.

"It's four thirty, you would have to get up anyway," Louis begins as he stares Zayn down just as harshly. His chestnut hair is matted to his head on one side and poking out wildly on the other.

"You _hit_  me," Zayn seethes. His hair, on the other hand, lays perfectly over his forehead as if he hadn't moved at all in the night. 

With a crossing of his arms over his chest, Louis wrinkles his nose, "What's that? I believe you've  _deafened_ me."

"Tosser," Zayn growls as he pushes himself up and gruffly knocks Louis onto his back. He disappears into the bathroom and slams the door soon after, letting the sounds of shower water fill the flat. 

A soft breath flits through Louis' lips as he stares at the ceiling above him, he can just barely see Liam shaking his head and Niall turning over onto his side in his peripheral. "Do you think we'll ever get out of here?" Louis asks tiredly to no one in particular.

"I don't think  _you_ will," Niall sighs. "Zayn will probably drown you in the bathtub."

Louis chuckles then as Liam rolls his eyes. It wasn't the lie he was hoping for or even remotely close to a significant response but it reminds him of why he loves Niall. His friend sees the questions as black and white with specific sets of answers but chooses to give light hearted jokes as if he knows that Louis needs them. He idly wonders if Niall does know.

They dress messily, Liam and Niall stealing clothes from around the flat while Louis sprays a little dry shampoo into his hair and only bothers to change his shirt. They crowd around the table much like the night before and evenly split the remains of whatever cereal they can find in the cupboards. 

"Do you have enough food for the rest of the week?" Liam asks after swallowing a mouthful of a mixture of Fruit Loops, Cap'n Crunch, and Cheerios. "I can have TESCOS send over some groceries."

With a shrug of his slouched shoulders, Louis scowls, "Liam, you don't need to do that, alright?" He loves his friends for their generosity but he has a little too much pride to take hand outs. Well, that is with the exception of tour tickets. Louis would shave his head for those. No, Louis would sell a lung and a kidney, or both kidneys, for those. 

"Well, if you ever do need anything, don't hesitate to ask, Lou. You know we don't mind helping out," Liam sighs and he has creases around his lips that make him look too old for Louis' liking. 

So, Louis rolls his eyes and heaves a dramatic sigh before resting his head against the table top, "Father, I'm an independent man. I don't want you to hold my hand and wipe my ass anymore, I'm a grown up."

When Niall chokes out a laugh around a mouthful of Cocoa Puffs and Reeses Puffs, Liam looks about ready to have a conniption. "You're nineteen," Liam states with a huff. "It's okay to need help."

"You're seventeen," Louis laughs. "It's okay to save your money for your girlfriend and your future mansion."

A pinched look forms between Liam's eyebrows as his tone dives into a bit more serious of a level, "Louis."

Louis shifts and lifts his head from the table with the realization that he may have just said a bit too much -- may have pushed a bit too far. "I was kidding," he laughs hesitantly.

When Zayn emerges from the bathroom followed by a cloud of thick steam, Louis thinks he's never been more grateful that his friend can't wake up with out wasting all of their hot water. "I can smell the lot of you from over here," Zayn grimaces as he rummages through a pile of clean clothes with a towel hanging from his hips. He dresses quickly, each article of clothing carefully hand picked. 

"Not all of us can stand cold showers," Niall laughs, the table tension clearly forgotten on his behalf. "How long were you in there? Forty minutes? Have your feet turned into molted prunes, yet?" he snorts and lifts a hand to cover his own mouth as his face turns a shade of red with laughter.

"Are you ready to head to work, Lou?" Zayn tugs on his coat as he blatantly ignores Niall. He takes the beanie that Niall had been wearing the night before and pulls it over his hair as he walks toward the door. 

Zayn begins lacing up his boots as the three boys remain at the table blinking tiredly at him. "Zayn," Louis whines as he pushes himself up from the table. "I don't..."

"We can't be late, Lou. I know you'll want to stop by that bakery on Sains, so, we need to head out now," Zayn interrupts with a narrowing of his eyes and a sleepy scowl. 

The three boys let out a few sighs and begin folding themselves into their coats, scarves and boots. Louis pretends not to notice when Niall wanders over to Zayn and wraps him up in a hug that Zayn only half heartedly returns. Niall nuzzles his face into the crook of Zayn's neck anyway and Louis turns away before he can register the affection that really could send him running for the bathroom. 

"We can give you a ride to the bakery at least?" Liam offers almost hesitantly.

Louis opens his mouth to reject because he enjoys the morning walks but Zayn is a little quicker, "Sure, sounds great." So, they pile into Liam's car with Niall and Zayn huddling close together in the backseat and Louis curling into himself in the front passenger.

"Think I'll have a hot chocolate," Niall grumbles into the scarf around Zayn's neck.

"Do you want some Malik cream on that too? God, Niall you're getting your fondness all over everything," Louis groans as he chucks a receipt he found between the seats at the two boys in the back.

The boys separate and settle into spaces on opposite sides of the car, Zayn with his stare even and focused out the window, and Niall with his cheeks flushed as he focuses on picking at the skin around his fingernails.

Louis frowns at them, his eyebrows furrowing as he settles back into his seat.  _Frustrating,_ he thinks. The two aren't together, and well, Louis knows that but they should be. He also knows Zayn's in denial and well, Niall will pine until he becomes a legitimate tree outside of their flat window.  _  
_

When they reach the bakery, the sun still isn't rising into the sky but the snow on the concrete reflects enough light for them to walk in straight lines to the door.

"G'morning," the barista greets them with a scowl that is desperately attempting to become a smile because she probably wants a tip. "Welcome to Urban Tap. My name's Amy, what can I get started for you lads today?" Amy continues as she fiddles with the end of the long brown braid draping over the front strap of her apron. 

Liam ushers the other three boys toward the barista and really Louis doesn't have to think to know why; Liam wants to pay for them and going last gives him the chance to do so in a way that he probably thinks is discreet. 

"Hello!" Niall places his palms down on the counter cheerily, nearly causing the barista to jump back in surprise at the sound. "I'll have a grande Peppermint Hot Chocolate, upside down please! You know, with the whipped cream and chocolate syrup on the bottom instead of the top? You can leave the peppermint shavings on the top though," he grins so wide his nose wrinkles a little.

The barista,  _Amy,_ blinks at him a few times with bleary blue eyes before nodding and tapping at the keys on the till.

"A grande Earl Grey Tea Latte," Zayn mumbles out as he moves back to stand by Liam instead of Niall. 

"Grande Hazelnut Machiatto," Louis tags on after Zayn.

Bringing up the end of their order, Liam approaches the counter with a warm smile, "An Awake Tea Latte, tall please love." 

Amy nods sheepishly, a soft smile flitting over her lips, "Of course, sir. That will be £25.36, please."

"Thank you," Liam hands over his cash before tossing a pound, or  _four,_ into the tea colored tip jar and turning back around to face the boys.

They wander over to a small set of worn armchairs and settle in against the cushions as they wait for their drinks. Liam fiddles with his phone as he rubs at his tired eyes. Zayn watches out the wide glass windows tracing the pathways of the snowflakes as they float toward the ground. Niall chews at his bottom lip and looks after the curve of Zayn's jaw. Louis, well, Louis tries not hurl the nearby packages of coffee beans at the two of them because he doesn't need to feel bad or contemplate double homicide in the name of love before he has to suffer through a sixteen hour work day.

A few minutes later, Amy is calling for their attention as she places their drinks on the pick-up counter. They leave shortly after with warm beverages in hand. "We'll see you lads later," Liam sighs as he takes a few sips of his tea-latte thing. 

Niall moves to give Zayn a hug but stops himself short and ends up patting at his arm before moving to wrap Louis up tight in a hug that nearly ends with his cocoa down Louis' back. "Bye Lou, Zayn..." Niall mumbles.

"See ya," Louis waves mildly and Zayn just nods his acknowledgement with a drink of Earl Grey. "Let me know about those tickets, yeah? Fifteen days is a great amount of time for issues to come up you know," Louis points out as they begin walking in their separate directions. 

Liam's car revs and putters as it drives the two boys back to their side of town, leaving Zayn and Louis to walk in the chill. Snowflakes dot Louis' eyelashes as he glances at his somber friend, "You have a way out, you know that right?"

"What?" Zayn hums as he lifts his to go cup to his lips.

 _You can't be that dense,_ Louis thinks and considers accusing Zayn of such. "You have the chance to be taken care of, Zayn," Louis hisses with a few dramatic gestures that almost spill his Machiatto into the snow.

"Are you warning me that I might be murdered soon?" Zayn chuckles, a fog of breath tumbling from his winter bitten lips. 

Louis thinks he might really consider his thought from earlier about double homicide. "There is a bouncing blond ball of hyperactivity that has a pocket big enough for the the world to fit inside. Fun fact,  _you dense twat,_ that certain blond pines after you on a daily basis."

"Perrie?" Zayn enquires with a glance in Louis' direction.

Yeah, he's really considering homicide. "It's too early for this, isn't it?"

The other boy shrugs and shifts his attention back to the outline of the factory that looms ahead of them. "It's always too early, Lou," Zayn says as he fishes a cigarette and his lighter from his coat pocket. 

With a small sigh, Louis watches Zayn light the long cylinder and follows the hallowing of his cheeks as he inhales deeply. "Do you fancy Perrie then?" he asks as they near the building.

Zayn pauses for a moment with a contemplative look on his face as he pulls the cigarette from his lips. "She is fit," smoke curls around the words as they fall from his lips. 

"Ah," is all Louis hums out before they reach the factory doors. 

As they tug the metal entrance open, Zayn outs his cigarette and they begin to unbundle themselves. They pass Ms. Emily and few of their other coworkers as they move on to tuck their extra clothing into their lockers. "Ready for a long day?" Zayn grumbles before he takes the finishing sips of his drink and tugs his work apron over his head.

"I'm ready for my daily battle against the chance of contracting Tetanus, yes," Louis supplies as he lifts his apron over his head and ties it around his waist. He tosses back the remainders of his Machiatto after realizing with a bit of distaste that it's gone cold. 

They work to the tune of stuffing being smashed into fabric limbs and the occasional whine from Louis after he happens to stab each of his fingers and even his palm.

When their shift ends, Louis' seeing grey. It's staining the fabric of his conscious and the color of his irises. His phone had been going off for the final five hours of their shift and it was beginning to drive him mad. Louis knew who it was, didn't have to check the caller id to feel the cringe in his skin. He finally picks up the phone as they clock out, "Hello?"

 _"Louis!"_ a small voice calls through the phone.  _Daisy._

He wraps his scarf tightly around his neck and watches as Zayn hesitates before putting the beanie that Niall had worn the day before back on his head. "Hi Daisy, Pheobe," Louis says softly into the phone, knowing that both girls are huddled together to hear.

 _"When are you coming home...?"_ a softer voice asks.  _Pheobe._

Zayn glances at him as he tugs on his boots.

"You need to give the phone back to mum, okay girls? I don't want you two to get in trouble and it's late. What are you two doing out of bed?" Louis runs his fingers through his hair and tries to think clearly for a moment. 

 _"We are in bed, Lou!"_  Daisy chirps and Pheobe giggles. 

Louis can feel the sting beginning to form in his eyes and he lets his hand fall to cover his mouth, "You need to be sleeping."

There's a small silence on the other end of the line before Daisy speaks in a whisper,  _"Will you sing to us, Lou?"_

He follows Zayn out the factory doors and closes his eyes for a moment, "Yeah, yeah I will." Louis sings until there's complete silence on the other end of the line.

 _October 16th, 2011  
_ _Afternoon_

It's their only day off of the week, a Sunday. 

Louis changes his phone number and cries into Zayn's coat until his throat his hoarse. When night rolls around, Niall and Liam drop by with enough rum to drown Louis for days, so he accepts the challenge and drinks until Jay, Charlotte, Felicite, Daisy, and Pheobe become more of a  _who?_ rather than a nail in his chest. 

 _October 26th, 2011  
_ _Night_

Green. 

Niall is positively  _green_  when he follows Liam into their flat on the last Wednesday evening of October. He's bundled up to his nose in scarves, jumpers, and coats that seem to swallow him up. He barely mumbles a hello as he curls up onto the mattress stack and heaves breaths that sound a lot more like emphysema and a lot less like the Irish joy they're used to.

"Ni? You alright there, mate?" Louis asks from his perch at the kitchen table with Zayn. 

"He's been running a fever since this morning," Liam explains as he sets down a bag of chinese take away and a container of what appears to be soup.

With a small nod, Louis gets a bowl down from the cabinet and pours a little of the soup into it before microwaving it. 

Zayn takes the warmed bowl from the microwave when the timer sets off, snatches a spoon from the drawer and takes a place next to Niall. "Sit up," is all he says, it's quiet and it sounds private.

"I think it's pneumonia," Liam continues, bringing Louis' attention away from the two other boys. "I had to carry him up the stairs a little bit ago," his eyebrows knit together as he picks at his nails nervously.

 _Pneumonia?_  "Does he need to go to A & E?" Louis rests his chin on his upturned palms with his elbows positioned firmly on the table. The white boxes of food are terribly tempting but he feels that if he were to reach for one right now, Liam might think his concern for their friend is rather minuscule. Which his concern is by no means small, he cares, really he does. Louis' just starving. To distract himself from the food, he takes another long look at his poorly friend. He tries not to think too hard about how poorly is an ironic way to describe Niall because that's a bit cruel under the current circumstances.

Dark blue and faded purple bags line the edges of Niall's bleary eyes as he blinks at the spoon Zayn is trying to persuade into his mouth. His blond waves are torrential today and his cheeks flushed a shade of nausea.  _Miserable,_ Louis thinks,  _is a better way to describe you._

"I might take him by there tomorrow if his fever doesn't come down at all," Liam sighs. "He's at 38.8℃."

Involuntarily, Louis winces because that's high and icky feeling, "Sure you shouldn't take him in now?"

Liam pauses for a moment with a pensive look on his face before he quietly says, "He wouldn't go when I tried to take him earlier. He wanted to come here."

 "Why would he..." and  _oh,_ it clicks. It's a bit sad and pathetic, really, but Louis can understand. Niall wanted to have exactly what he's getting now: Zayn's attention, because he isn't sure he'll get it any other way. The idea makes Louis frown but he just nods instead and grabs for a take away box. They don't need to discuss it.

With a nod, Liam reaches for one of the other boxes and they eat quietly while Zayn tries to feed Chicken Noodle soup to Niall who seems more asleep on his shoulder than awake to open his mouth for the spoon. When Zayn finally gives up, he tucks Niall under a heavy blanket and moves to the table to join Louis and Liam. 

The three boys ease around conversation with vague attempts at being subtle about their worry until their take away cartons are empty and they're curling around a sleeping boy with just enough warmth for all of them. 

When Louis' almost escaped to the depths of sleep, Niall wheezes out a weak huff of laughter, "Looks like you're getting your tickets, Lou..." 

Louis blinks into the dark room for a moment because he had forgotten about the tour in the midst of his busy work schedule and well, life. "Niall, you're making me feel like a dick. I didn't wish sickness upon you," he says finally.

"No, no you didn't," Niall cuddles into Louis with his head beneath Louis' chin. His forehead burns against Louis' neck. "Just your luck."

"Luck," Louis chuckles only to quiet down when Zayn elbows his back roughly. "I don't think that word and I have ever been associated with each other."

Silence settles around them for a while and Louis thinks that Niall might have fallen asleep again during the conversation when the blond finally speaks up, "Some times things change, Lou. Some times they work out." 

The words are hushed and fragile, brushing against Louis' skin like encouragement and really he thinks he should laugh but he feels the sound dying in his chest. "Thanks Niall..." Louis quietly replies.

"I called Nick this morning about it..." Niall mumbles, his words half asleep and curling around his tongue. "He said he'll have the tickets transferred to your name. You'll have to meet him at the airport on Friday morning at half seven... Have fun, okay Lou...? You deserve a good break..."

A soft smile curls Louis' lips as he tucks his chin into Niall's hair, "You're getting your fond all over me..."

"Oh, stuff it..." Niall chuckles before he falls into a few shaking coughs. 

 _October 27th, 2011  
_ _Morning_

Fading moonlight and an obnoxious ringtone wake them up on Thursday. Zayn doesn't take his morning shower but instead bundles Niall up while Liam and Louis dress for the day. Louis notices that Zayn lingers around the barely standing blond longer than usual and thinks that maybe Liam notices too but he doesn't point it out so Louis doesn't either. 

"Don't forget... Tomorrow at half seven..." Niall huffs tiredly as Liam leads him toward the door. "Just look for Nick... He's got this lazy quiff..." his blue eyes are clouded and his cheeks flushed as he waves his hands around his hair to demonstrate.

"Liam, you're taking him in, right?" Zayn interrupts as he pulls a scarf up around Niall's chin and mouth. 

Liam nods sheepishly as he tugs on his coat and fetches his keys, "Yeah, we'll head there now."

With small waves and gentle hugs, Louis and Zayn watch the boys leave before making their way to the factory. They don't stop for morning latte's or pastries having woken up a little later than usual. Zayn smokes two cigarettes and Louis doesn't mention Niall. When they arrive at the factory, the employees are gathered by the lockers in a circle around their stout boss. 

"Tomlinson, Malik, good of you to join us," she says with her hands on her hips.

 _Too early. Nope,_ Louis thinks as he begins to unravel the mess of scarves he has wrapped around his neck. 

Zayn tugs off his coat and leans on Louis' shoulder with a bored expression on his face. "What do you think she's on about today?" he grumbles lowly into Louis' ear.

Indifferently, Louis shrugs his shoulders, "Dunno."

"As I was saying," their boss barrels on. "As of November first, there will be pay cuts and a few lay offs. There are pink slips on the work stations of those who will not be joining us on that day. Hourly wages will be cut by £1.15."

Silence settles around the room, the employees glancing at each other's faces.

"£1.15?" Louis sputters. "You've got to be kidding me!"

Their boss' round eyes meander over to Louis' face with a skeptical eyebrow raise, "Have something to say Tomlinson?"

"For fucks sake, my name is Louis. I've been working here for two years. Call me Louis, or at least call me  _Mr. Tomlinson_. Do you know how much I make a day? £6.15 per hour. That's £98ish per day. Taxes take half of that. If you cut our pay by that amount we will be making less than those idiots flipping frozen burgers!" Louis can feel the heat rising in his cheeks. He humors himself with the thought that maybe Niall passed on his fever, that maybe he's just being a bit delirious. "I live with a friend in a flat the size of this place's bathroom and we can still barely pay the rent!"

Zayn nudges his side. "Lou," he warns quietly.

"Fuck it," Louis growls as he drags off his coats and shoves them into his locker before snatching his apron. He puts on the only real part of their uniform before brushing passed the gathered employees and going to his work station. 

When Louis sees it, every nerve in his body shuts down. He doesn't move as the other employees reach their stations. He doesn't breathe when Zayn stops behind him.

"You've got a pink slip..." Zayn whispers out in disbelief. "What... What are we going to do, Lou?"

Panic buzzes beneath his skin, rage following shortly behind. "Ms. Burnham," Louis chuckles, the sound is morbid, biting, and it makes Zayn take a few steps back. 

"Tomlinson," their boss answers as her shoes click against the walkway above their heads. 

"You... You're an idiot. That's what this is, isn't it? Idiocy?" Louis grabs the pink slip from his station and waves it in her general direction. "Please, enlighten me of what I have done wrong. I walk here every morning from across town and still get here on time. I leave with raw fingers and I haven't once complained about your late payments, aside from today."

Her shoes fall quiet as her voice covers the sound, "My decision has been made."

"You,  _you fucking bitch,"_ he seethes as he looks up. Louis almost immediately looks away because  _oh,_ he messed up. "I'm the problem employee here then? Is that what this is? Because, at least I fucking wear knickers. Is that professional to you? Is that your attempt at seducing a living thing?"

"Get your things and go," she fumes, her voice low and dry.

Louis pulls on a shit eating grin as he clenches his fists and risks a glance up at the woman. His shoulders are shaking and he knows he's going to regret this later, when he realizes she won't pay him for the last week he's worked and when Zayn is three packs into the day with his head in his hands. "Go fuck yourself," he takes off his apron and dumps it into one of the barrels of fabric dye. "I'll see you at home, Zayn," Louis grinds out as he takes his warm clothes and exits the factory. 

It's only when he sets foot on the platform for their floor that he feels the panic beginning to creep back into his reason. His hands tremble and his vision blurs as he fumbles to get the door open and escape into the confines of their flat. "Fuck, fuck, fuck..." he murmurs like it's a new mantra. His fingers tangle through his hair. "Rent... Electric bill... Gas bill... Water bill... Food...  _Fuck..."_ Louis slides to the floor in their small kitchenette with his back against the laminate cabinets. 

He stares through a teary haze at the rest of their flat as he realizes he hadn't even thought of a way for Zayn to pay the bills while he was gone with Nick.  _How could I fuck this up...?_ After a moment of tugging at his hair and pinching at his skin, Louis fishes his cell phone from his pocket. His pride is dying in his chest as he tucks his head in between his knees and holds his phone to his ear. _  
_

It rings three times before, " _Louis?"_

"Liam... I need to ask you for a favor..." the words stick thickly in his throat.

There's shuffling in the background and Louis remembers that Liam is probably at A & E with Niall still. Vaguely, Louis wonders why he's allowed himself to become such a burden to his friends. 

 _"What do you need, Louis?"_ Liam asks, worry lining his tone.

Louis thinks he might hate himself. "I've been laid off," he admits.

A short intake of breath echoes through the receiver,  _"Why?"_

"I'm unfortunate," Louis says weakly.

 _"Lou, that isn't true. While you're gone this next month, I'll pay your half for Zayn, alright? Just relax, okay?"_ Liam tells him, his voice falling into stern.

He's nodding his head along to the assurance before he realizes Liam can't see him. "H...How is Niall?"

 _"It's pneumonia, like I thought. I'm going to take him home then I'll be right over, okay? I'll bring you a suitcase for your trip and I'll order some groceries. Things will be alright and you can find another job when you get back. You hated that place anyway, Lou. It was making you a miserable twat,"_  Liam goes on.

A breathy laugh escapes Louis lips as he wipes at the tears streaking his cheeks, "I  _am_ a miserable twat."

 _"Well, that's just something we'll have to fix,"_ Liam tells him pointedly. " _I'll be there soon. Bye, Lou."_

"Thanks, Li," Louis replies quietly before the line clicks off. He doesn't move from his spot on the tile flooring. After counting his uneven breathing for a few moments, he holds his phone in front of his legs so he can see the screen as he types.

_'Zayn, I've got it taken care of. Don't worry about it, your hair might deflate.'_

His stomach twists into knots as he presses send and tries to focus on the replay of Liam's voice telling him to  _relax,_  that everything would be  _alright._ "I'll find another job when I come home... I'll pay Liam back... It will work out," he thinks the last few words sound more like Niall than they do his own voice and he thinks he should probably buy his friends fruitbaskets for their endless encouragement of his pitiful existence. 

When Zayn doesn't reply to his message before Liam arrives, Louis isn't surprised. He knows that Zayn is probably settled behind his mental fort trying to figure out how one paycheck that barely comes every month might turn into enough for the both of them to survive because he probably doesn't believe that Louis has gotten it taken care of. 

"Lou?" Liam's voice rings throughout the flat.

Louis can just barely see the tufts of his friend's honey colored hair above the counter as Liam glances around looking for him. "In here," Louis says quietly.

"What are you doing down there?" Liam asks when he finally locates Louis. He has a black suitcase wheeling along behind him and a backpack hung over his shoulder.

"Trying to figure out when everything went to shit," Louis says pathetically, he's partially kidding but still.

The other boy's eyebrows furrow together, "Lou, things aren't shit. You got laid off, it happens. I've got you and Zayn until you get back and find another job. Things are fine. Don't be so negative about it."

"Your sympathy is astounding," Louis sighs as he tucks his face back into his knees. He wishes Niall were here because Niall would have said something like  _the day you were born is the answer_ or something like that and they would laugh. Louis would feel better then but instead he feels selfish for wanting his sick friend to comfort him when things are kind of fine. 

Liam rolls his eyes at him and sets the backpack on the table. "Well, I picked up a few things for you on the way over," he says. "Now, before you get mad at me for buying you things, I'm going to tell you to stuff it." 

A small laugh escapes Louis as he lifts his head to spot the small smile pulling at the corners of Liam's lips, "Alright, alright."

"I bought you just some travel stuff, like shampoo and deodorant. I also got you some detergent so that you can wash your clothes where ever you are and not have to take so many with you," Liam explains. "Let's get you packed then, yeah?"

With a small nod, Louis relents and pushes himself to his feet to wander over to his closet. 

"Niall told me you'll be back here on the thirtieth of next month, so, you'll need at least ten shirts, trousers, and more underpants," Liam coaches.

For the moment, Louis doesn't mind the advising because Liam needs the control and likes to make things okay, so he breathes deep and listens. "Liam, I don't have that many pairs of pants," Louis tells him.

Honestly, Liam looks like he might be contemplating the idea of world peace as he looks up from the shirt he's folding into a square. "Come on then," Liam says as he places the shirt into the suitcase and gets up from his spot on the floor. 

"Where are we going?" Louis questions curiously, his eyebrows rising beneath his fringe. 

"Just get up, Lou."

Liam purchases four pairs of trousers, three long sleeved shirts, a few boxer briefs, socks, and a snapback that he had caught Louis staring at. He pulls the snapback down over Louis' face when Lou attempts to protest Liam's excessive spending.

At half past nineteen in the evening, Zayn finally comes through the door. He has a cigarette between his lips and his eyes are half lidded with exhaustion. "Lou," he says as he pulls off his boots.

Louis looks up at the sound from where he's postioned next to his open suitcase. For the past two hours he had been trying to fold his shirts like Liam's example because Liam had left him to do it on his own. 

"I'll be getting paid £5 an hour," Zayn starts. "That... Is that even legal?" he pulls the cigarette from his lips and his hands are shaking.

"No, it isn't," Louis tells him before leaning back against the closet door. "Zayn, quit."

Zayn lifts his stare to meet his for the first time since arriving. "I did," he says. "These next two weeks are my last."

That wasn't what Louis was expecting. Honestly, he half suspected that Zayn would give him a curious look and tell him that he  _was_  trying to quit smoking. "Zayn..." 

The younger boy waves his cigarette dismissively between the two of them, "We'll make things work."

"But..." Louis doesn't mind the calmness, really, he's actually a bit frightened by it because this isn't how Zayn's over compensating mind normally works.

"Liam called me," Zayn cuts him off.

 _Oh._ "Yeah," Louis understands. "He bought us things."

A small chuckle swirls around a puff of smoke from Zayn's lips as he nods, "Yeah. Yeah, he did Lou." Zayn sits on the other side of Louis' suitcase and begins to refold the items he haphazardly threw inside. "Let's get you ready, yeah?"

Louis nods softly and feels a little more of the panic beginning to fizzle out, the white noise screaming through his thoughts silencing. "What did the hag say when you quit?" Louis asks as he twirls a small bottle of shampoo through his fingers.

"She said I live with a terrible miscreant that will only lead me down a road to hell," Zayn recites. 

"A miscreant? I'm a miscreant? Isn't that the furry little half-beaver-half-rat thing?" Louis wrinkles his nose at the thought of the odd creation.

A laugh tilts Zayn's head back and echoes through the flat. "That's a muskrat, you dolt," he quips. 

Louis rolls eyes and tosses a new shirt at Zayn's face, "Whatever."

They order delivery pizza and chicken wings with what's left of Louis' pocket money as they finish packing. When the food arrives, the boys eat in comfortable silence with their attention focused on a rerun of  _Shameless_  that Zayn hates and Louis only watches to ruffle him up.

Sleep begins to drag at their thoughts before they climb into bed. Louis is almost asleep curled up into Zayn's back when he realizes that he won't have a warm boy, or three, to cuddle up into for the next month. He buries his face further into the space between Zayn's stubble and his shoulder, breathing in the soft musk of sleep, work, and boy that is his best friend. "Zayn," he says tiredly.

"Hm..." the other boy hums softly. 

"I'll miss you..." Louis admits. 

Zayn turns onto his back and tugs Louis into his side as his eyes stay closed. "I'll be right here when you get back," he says.

The words are half asleep but Louis closes his eyes to them because they sound a lot like a promise, "Take care of everyone will you? Don't forget to water, Henry. He'll wilt if you leave him in the window to long..."

"Lou, shut up," Zayn sighs. 

With a smile, Louis pinches at Zayn's stomach and curls his limbs around his frame.

 _October 28th, 2011  
_ _Early Morning_

Liam's figure standing over his bed at half six nearly causes Louis to have an aneurysm. 

"G'Morning Lou-Lou," the offending boy laughs. There's a bag of what appears to be donuts in his grasp and a tray of warm drinks in his other. "Time to go, princess."

Louis chucks his pillow at Liam's face and Zayn punches Louis in the ribs for waking him up. "Tossers, bunch of tossers you lot are," Louis growls as he rubs at his victimized ribs. 

"Come on, Lou. If you don't get up, I'm taking the tickets back," Niall's raw voice causes Louis to snap his head up.

"What is he doing out of bed?" Zayn asks as he puts his hand over Niall's forehead.

Honestly, Louis doesn't know how or when Zayn got up. 

"He wanted to go with me to take Lou to the airport," Liam clarifies with a small shrug before tossing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt at Louis' face. "The sooner you get up, the sooner I can get Niall back to bed. Come on," he coaxes.

It seems he doesn't really have a choice in the matter because Zayn hoists him off the bed moments later and nearly knocks Louis over when he tries to force the jeans onto Louis' legs. 

"Zayn, I can dress myself," Louis whines as Zayn elbows him in the face when he tries to get the jeans buttoned. 

Niall's laughter fills the flat and it brings a grin to Zayn's lips that Louis will most definitely tease him about from the safety of France later in the day. Louis finishes dressing himself before taking one of the warm drinks from Liam and snatching a donut from the bag. 

"Eat in the car. We're running late," Liam ushers them toward the door with Louis' suitcase in tow and barely waits for them to tug on their coats. 

They cram into Liam's car with Louis smashed in between Niall and Zayn because Louis wants to remember their every curve while he's away. 

"Lou," Niall wheezes after a few minutes, a light blue scarf is wrapped around his neck and pulled up to his nose to keep him from breathing anything contagious on the other boys.

"Hm?" Louis hums. 

The blond shifts in his seat so he can look Louis in the eye as he says, "Happy early birthday." Niall holds out a small white envelope in his direction.

By the wrinkling of Niall's freckled nose and the narrowing of his baby blues, Louis can tell that the boy is smiling. "You don't need to get me a gift, and my birthday isn't until December. Honestly, this trip is probably going to be all I need for the rest of my existence anyway," Louis laughs but the envelope is still being shoved at him and well, he really can't refuse the gift of a sick child.

"Just open it when you think you need something. Don't look till then," Niall waves an index finger in Louis' face to enforce his point. 

Louis nods and tucks the envelope into the backpack Liam brought for him the day before. He silently checks for his passport and wallet before rezipping the bag. 

"Now, Nick can be a bit abrasive..." Niall tries to warn as the car comes to a stop outside the Departure terminal.

"It's not like I have to stick around him, right?" Louis laughs before pecking a kiss on Niall's forehead and licking Zayn's cheek before being swatted away. 

Liam gets out of the car with Lou to help him lift his suitcase from the boot. "Don't do anything stupid, alright?"  he wraps his arms around Louis and pulls him into his chest with enough force to knock the wind out of Louis' lungs. 

"Alright, alright. I'll use protection and try not to get arrested," Louis relents with a heavy sigh as he rests his chin on Liam's shoulder. 

"I mean it," Liam pinches at his waist before pulling away and shoving Louis toward the entrance. "Bye, Lou."

When Louis rolls his bag behind him and throws his backpack over his shoulder, he doesn't look back at his friends. He thinks idly that he might tear up if he sees their stupidly fond faces staring back at him. The airport is barely bustling with travelers when he spots a young man lazily holding a sign that reads  _Lewis Pomlinson._

"It's Louis Tomlinson," Louis says as he stops in front of the boy. Louis takes in the sight of the lazy quiff Niall had described to him and the quirk of his lips as he grins. 

Nick shrugs his shoulders in nonchalance. He has a grey hoodie on underneath a black leather coat and he looks a little warm around the cheeks. "You're late,  _Lewis,"_  Nick blinks with a tilt of his head.

A scowl settles into Louis' lips.  _Abrasive,_ he hears Niall's voice ring through his thoughts. "Oh my, the walk to the gate is so far. We'll never make it," he drags out the words with a roll of his eyes at the hazel eyed boy. 

However, Nick merely chuckles at him before turning on his heel and walking toward the security check.

"Do you have my ticket or what?" Louis calls after him before picking up his pace. 

With a glance over his shoulder, Nick shouts, "Check your bag in first. Haven't you ever been to an airport?"

Louis grimaces and surveys the check in desks before approaching the one Nick had been standing closest too. 

The woman at the desk eyes him warily before checking his bag to his first destination,  _Paris._ "Have a good day, Mr. Tomlinson," she smiles tightly as she hands over his ticket. 

He thanks her mildly before trudging off to the security check where he tries to look as little like a criminal as he can with his scruff, sleep reddened eyes, and bed head. When he finally passes through to the other side, he finds that Nick is waiting for him.

"Took you long enough then," Nick says with a small raise of his eyebrows before beginning to walk off again.

"You're just as pleasant as Niall described," Louis mutters with a wrinkling of his nose as he trails along after the taller boy.

At the mention of his blond friend, Nick glances over his shoulder, "Niall, yeah, how is he?"

"He seemed to be feeling a little better this morning," Louis admits with a shrug as he catches up to Nick's long strides. 

"Good," Nick nods. "You ready for a month of Imagine Lizards?"

Louis knows where Niall got the mistake from now, " _Dragons,_ and yes I am. I don't have to follow you around now, do I?"

An indignant laugh escapes Nick as he stops in front of a flight attendant taking tickets. "No, no. God, please don't. I don't need a puppy following me around," he says when the attendant checks his ticket.

"Worried you won't get any with me around?" Louis challenges while the attendant scans his own ticket.

Nick turns a little to glance at Louis as his lips quirk up into a grin, giving Louis a once over, "No, love. I'm not worried about that."

Before Louis can think to be irritated or offended, Nick disappears down the gate hallway.

"Prick..." Louis huffs before wandering after him. 

It turns out that Louis has to sit next to Nick on the flight, which he should have honestly expected, but  _still._ "So what are you doing for Radio 1?" Louis grits out as the plane takes off. 

The curls of Nick's dark quiff flop into his face as he glances at Louis, "I'm an intern. I'm taking photos for the website and writing a few articles about the band." He seems chipper enough about the information he shares but a little bored of what the work actually entails.

"Leg work?" Louis questions.

"Leg work," Nick affirms as he attempts to realign the edges of his quiff. "Can't complain much though."

Louis nods and leans back against the head rest. As his eyes close to the hum of the turbines, he wonders if he remembers how to do this. He thinks he'll just swallow his concerns because for the first time in a few years he has the chance to completely drown himself and just  _live._

**_"_ _Every little bit goes a little of a long way._ _Life gets hard and I'm headed for the highway home._ _Caught up in the middle of a headache and a heartbreak._ _Just when I thought I was clear of the mistakes,_ _No, no oh oh..." Working Man by Imagine Dragons_ **


	2. Fallen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING! Please continue reading with caution. I was asked to make a note about this so please, if suicide, cutting (vaguely mentioned), or anything of the self-harm depression nature is a trigger for you then please dont read this. If you need someone to talk to please feel free to come to me at thatkaitykid.tumblr.com.
> 
> I've also been asked to warn about vague dub-con. 
> 
> Much love x

_Harry Styles, 17 years old_  
 _Resident of St. Davids, Wales  
_ _October 14th, 2011_

He's set a date.

Well, he's set a _tentative_  date. It's marked on the calender of his palms and in the scars on his wrists, imprinted permanently behind his eyelids so he sees it even when he's asleep. It's all he thinks about when he sits in class, as he gets up in the morning, while eating dinner, and while he reads about characters that  _make it._ Harry knows though, he knows that he won't.

He reads about rogues that are being hunted down that eventually meet princesses and turn their lives around. He lets the words paint scenes temporarily over the date as he skims over a story about a boy who thinks that no one knows him when in reality there's a girl who's been waiting to grab his hand and tell him that the world has been trying to get his attention. Yet, he never reads about a boy who stays in his room with big pocketed parents who give him money instead of care. Harry realizes this is because there's no point writing about a boy like that. He figures that for many that sort of character is probably not very relatable and anyone who might actually read it would probably think that the character was just being a little ungrateful about their situation.

With that thought It takes him little time to realize that he's pitying himself and that the imaginary readers of his imaginary book are probably right as he pushes his glasses onto the bridge of his nose and examines himself in the mirror. There are post it notes littering his bathroom walls with phrases written in his messy scrawl with sharpie. Absently, he tugs open one of his sink drawers and pulls out a sharpie along with a stack of green post its. Harry uncaps the marker and scribbles tiredly over the paper before sticking it in one of the corners of his mirror.

 _Self Pitying,_ it says. 

Harry eyes the note before moving his pale green stare over the other notes. They're all reasons that he's found, evidence and justifications of his decision. 

 _I wouldn't fuck him if you paid me,_ one says. These were the words of a boy he had grown fond of the year before. They had been friends up until the other boy realized that Harry wasn't exactly a friend that his group would accept. Harry had watched the boy walk into his life and out of it in a few weeks. Harry would never admit though, at least  _again_ , that he had actually begun to fall for that boy. So, in the year since Harry scrawled the words on that note, he's decided that he won't ever mention that boy by name again and when that boy gives him sad looks from across the classroom, he'll pretend he doesn't see.

 _Convenient,_ a blue note says. He tries not to dwell on that one because it contradicts the first mentioned note about the boy. Harry was convenient to that boy and he still feels his touch, his grabby hands.  _Dirty,_ he thinks because no matter how much he scrubs, he never feels any different.

 _February 14th, 2011,_ another says. Harry recalls that Valentine's Day when he had gone for a walk to the cathedral and returned home the next morning with his right eye swollen shut and his nose broken. He tries not to think about how his mum had barely batted an eyelash before having Barbara, the house keeper, take him to the emergency room. He definitely doesn't think about that boy who had been among the group that day or how that boy didn't stop what was happening.

He wonders if his mum has realized that he hasn't spoken a word to her since that day. Then again, he thinks that maybe no one would notice because he hardly speaks to anyone and well, Harry just isn't noticeable. 

With a heavy breath, Harry places the sharpie and post its back into the drawer before going to retrieve his laptop from its place on the pillow beside his own in his too big bed. He curls up beneath the sheets  with his laptop on his legs and begins typing quietly. He watches through the lenses of his glasses as the letters paint the white screen with curves and lines of black. In the back of his mind, he realizes that he should probably be worried that he has to type things out to actually know how he's feeling, but he doesn't push the thought. 

Over the last few months, Harry's written notes to his family, to the librarian who always eyes him pityingly while he reads, to a wide spread amount of authors, and even on one occasion, when he was feeling particularly low, he wrote a note to that boy. It was a note that he rereads a few different times when he thinks too much about the size of his bed or the time that he spends in his room when even his own voice begins to sound foreign to him. 

The thoughts and the memories cloud his mind before he ends up merely slamming his hands down on his keyboard with fresh tears forming in his eyes before shoving the laptop from his lap. He slips his fingers in his dark curls and tugs hard as he bites down on his bottom lip. Harry thinks that maybe he's beginning to suffocate because the buzzing in his head is starting to echo too loudly for him to handle. 

A soft knock brings his thoughts down from the noisy haze inside his head for a moment. "Harry, dinner's ready," Barbara calls from the doorway to his room. Her greying blonde hair is tied up with a blue ribbon that matches the blouse she's wearing today. She has soft wrinkles in her skin from age and wearing too little sunscreen, yet, Harry thinks she's prettier than his mum. 

Harry pushes himself from the bed and wanders after her with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. 

"Robin and your mum are out meeting with a client," she tells him as she pulls out a chair for him at the table. 

"Oh," is all he says as he takes his seat and begins picking at his chicken. He isn't surprised, at least he tries not to be as he pays little mind to the empty chairs around the large table because he's used to this, this is part of his normal. 

"Your mum left you some money as well," Barbara mentions a few moments later as she sets down an envelope to his left.

 _Harry,_ is written on the front in, what he knows is, his mum's secretary's handwriting. There's no  _love you,_  no message about going out or about what to do with the money, it's just an envelope that his mum couldn't be bothered to sign. "Thank you," he quietly mumbles before deciding that despite the protesting of his stomach, he isn't hungry. 

Barbara gives his shoulder a reassuring pat as she places a glass of water in his reach. "Have you gotten those tickets you wanted?" she asks him. 

He nods softly, "Still haven't told my mum, have you?"

"Of course not," Barbara shakes her head at him and smiles widely. "You made me swear on my grave."

A weak smile lifts his lips as he finally moves to look at her, "She probably won't notice my absence anyway."

She gives his head a light smack before scoffing and moving to take the plate of barely-touched food from in front of him. "Give her a break," she warns before dismissing him and walking into the kitchen.

Harry remains seated and takes little sips of his water. With the money that his mum had been handing him since the year before, Harry had bought tickets to see one last band in person. He had purchased enough tickets to follow them on tour granting him nineteen tickets in total. He would follow them from their first European show until they did their last London show. Those nineteen tickets marked the beginning and ending of his countdown. 

 _November 26th, 2011,_ is Harry's tentative date. His last  _forty-three_ days were beginning and when the tour would start at the  _Olympia_  in Paris, he would be starting his last  _twenty-nine_ days. He had planned it all out already, really, it had all come easily as the quietest of his thoughts. He had decided when he had first begun thinking about the date that he wouldn't leave a note. He wouldn't need one. No one would read it because no one would probably take note of his absence. He would down the pain killers he had refrained from taking after Valentine's Day and he would drink himself to sleep. 

He thinks that, that day will be the most peaceful day of his life. If he can't make it to the twenty-sixth, well, he'll just give his tickets to whomever else would so desire to have them.

After a few moments, Harry pushes himself away from the table and carries himself back up to his bedroom. He shuts his door quietly and listens as the lock slides into place. His fingers begin to tremble as he takes a deep breath and rests his forehead against the door. The tears are beginning to form in his eyes because he's _alone._  

With weary hesitancy, he moves himself to his bed and buries himself beneath the the blankets. Harry would write this as one of his reasons on a post it note but he knows that  _Wake up, Stay in room, Eat, Go back to room, and Sleep,_ is already posted somewhere on the back of his bathroom door alongside,  _Waste of Life._

Harry stuffs his earbuds into his ears and turns the music up as loud as it will go. Idly, he thinks that no matter how loud it is, it will never be loud enough. He pulls his knees to his chest and wraps his arms tightly around his shins. His eyelashes fan over his cheeks as he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to will his mind to be quiet. He's aware as the tears begin to spill over his cheeks that no matter how hard he tries, this will always be the only thing that he is: a sniveling teen beneath his sheets. It's a little weird to think about because the comparison isn't just a mesh of adjectives, it's  _real._

"Forty-three days..." he whispers as he blinks against the fabric of his pillow. "Just forty-three days..." the words are almost assurance to him. 

The lenses of his glasses begin to fog before he pulls them off and shoves them elsewhere on the bed. He rubs roughly at his eyes until all he sees are spots of red and blue.

He closes his eyes again and drifts off to a constant stream of  _Harry, I was only working with you because you're smart. HEY FAGGOT! Forget your skirt, Princess? Wes, can I tell you something? Sure, Harry, anything. I think that I might like you... You know, Harry, I think I might like you too._ He grips the sheets a little tighter around himself in his sleep.  _Wes, make them stop! Make them stop please!_

_October 15th, 2011  
Morning_

When he mumbles "Wes?" as he wakes up the next morning, he just buries his head a little deeper into his pillow and cries. "Forty-two... Just forty-two..." he tries to tell himself because it shouldn't be this hard.

He pushes himself off of his bed and forces himself into the shower before pulling his lanky limbs into a sweater and a pair of jeans. The jumper is white and hangs loosely from his shoulders, covering his hands almost to the tips of his fingers. Tiredly, he gathers his books and shoves them into his light blue backpack before slinging it over his shoulder and making his way down the steps. 

"G'morning, Harry," Barbara calls to him from the kitchen. "Going to the library early today, are we? Let me make you a lunch to take with you."

 _No,_ isn't the easiest thing for Harry to say, so, he seats himself at the counter on top of a stool and waits patiently. His stare flits aimlessly about the kitchen taking in the  _Azurite_ granite counter tops,  _ceramic_  sink, and their black top  _stainless steel_  stove.  _Pointless,_ Harry thinks with a sigh because everything in his house is really just over priced and useless. He realizes most of the things around him are pointless as well; the eight seated couch in the theater room, the theater room in general, their large beds, his parents bed definitely because they clearly don't even sleep in it or together for that matter. "Is mum around?" he asks softly although he's sure he already knows the answer.

Barbara looks up from where she's shoving the items she prepared for him into a brown paper bag, "Oh, no sweety. She's out right now."

When the bag is placed in front of him, he tucks it into his backpack and gives Barbara a kiss on the cheek before he leaves. Harry wanders down to the library slowly, taking in the morning light and the quiet that accompanies the early hour. He kicks at the gravel along the side of the road before climbing the steps into the library a few minutes later,  _perk of living in a small town,_ he thinks absently. "Morning Ms. Miller," Harry gives a small smile to the elderly librarian stamping books behind the circulation counter.

"Good morning, Harry," she says. There's a small quiver to her voice that only comes with age. "Always lovely to see you."

The curls that fall into his face sway as he nods in acknowledgement before going to his usual table in the back of the building. The small square table sits between two stacks,  _Fiction - Romance_ and  _Fiction -Thrillers/Horror_. He runs the tips of his fingers over the crinkled spines of the books gently before closing his eyes and choosing one at random. " _Impulse..."_ he reads aloud before turning the pink covered book over in his hands. " _Act on your impulse, swallow the bottle, cut a little deeper, put the gun to your chest..."_ his throat begins to dry. The book is in the wrong stack and he knows that but his fingers have chosen. 

His fingers tremble as he slips his backpack from his shoulder and takes a seat before cracking the book open.  _You should put it back,_ he tells himself because really the title and back cover are screaming warnings at him. He's pushing himself and giving himself encouragement in the direction of forty-two remaining days. Honestly, he needs everything but  _that._ _  
_

With slight hesitancy, he skims over the first two pages before reaching a page under the title: _The Thread._ His grip loosens and slips over the edges of the book as he reads ' _Wish you could turn off the questions, turn off the voices, turn off all the sound.'_ A sense of nervousness flits and drums under his skin as he silently agrees.  _'Yearn to close out the ugliness, close out the filthiness, close out all light. Long to cast away yesterday, cast away memory, cast away all jeopardy. Pray you could somehow stop the uncertainty, somehow stop the loathing...'_ "...somehow stop the pain," Harry finishes aloud as his shoulders slump a little further and he bites into his bottom lip.

"You look tired, Harry," a warm voice says from his left dragging his attention away from the book in his grasp.

Harry knows the tone and lift of the voice so well. He tightens his grip around the novel and tries to take a deep breath because he  _can't_ handle this today, he just can't. Wearily, he keeps his stare focused desperately on the vanilla colored pages in front of him.

"Alright, look, you can pretend to ignore me all you want to but just..." the boy shifts to take the seat across from Harry before he clasps his hands together on the surface. "Just hear me out..." he finishes softly. 

Tears begin to blur Harry's vision as he begs pathetically that they won't paint his cheeks, "Wesley, just go away please..."

"No, Harry, I need you to hear this. Please," Wesley pleads with him and Harry doesn't have to look up to know there's a crestfallen look on his light features or a clouded look in his grey eyes.

Harry lifts his stare a few moments later and lets his eyes follow the soft waves of Wesley's black hair down to the little curve of his nose and then over the bow of his lips. He thinks he hates the boy in front of him.

"I want to apologize to you..." Wesley begins, lifting his fingers to push the bits of his fringe off his forehead in a way that Harry knows is nervous. "I want you to know that I'm sorry for ignoring you and for what happened in the Spring... I want... I want you to be around again. I've missed you, Harry," the boy finishes as he lifts his pale stare to meet Harry's before reaching to take one of Harry's hands into his own.

The chair screeches in protest as Harry stands abruptly from the table. "No, no you can't just say things like that," Harry lets out a weak breath. He's angry and he can feel it in the stubbornly continuing beat of his heart, "You can't just come find me and think that saying sorry makes everything that you did okay! I don't have anyone Wesley. You -- you were the only person that I ever opened up to because everyone else treated me,  _treats me_ , like shit!" he spits as a tear slips down his cheek despite his attempts to will them not to.

"I  _liked_ you Wesley," Harry growls the words and he thinks that he hasn't heard so many words come from his own mouth in months. "You let your brute friends beat the shit out of me and you didn't even say a damn thing," he's full on shaking now and he hates himself more for it.

Wesley stands slowly from the table and starts to walk around to Harry's side with his hands raised in defense, "Harry, I was wrong you know that... I just, please, give me a chance."

"A chance," he snorts. "I did. I gave you a chance when you first came up to me. You mocked me to my face and I still gave you a chance that day. Honestly, I gave you another chance on Valentine's Day. That chance ended with me in the emergency room. What makes you think you deserve another one?" Harry finishes softly as he grabs his things and the new book before shoving past Wesley. He even mutters a quiet  _sorry_ out of habit before stalking to the circulation desk and thanking Ms. Miller as she checks out his book.

"Harry!" Wesley calls after him.

His feet don't stop though. "Just leave me alone, please..." he knows Wesley can't hear him but he still needs to say the words because to him, they at least mean he tried.

A firm hand wraps around his bicep and whips him around. Harry's heart stops at the sight of the boy's clouded eyes. He finds that he doesn't pull away and that just maybe he can't breathe right. 

"Harry," Wesley says firmly. His lips are set into a thin line and they're just  _so pink,_ "Let me fix this."

He screams at himself to move, to run, maybe just to push this boy away but he doesn't. Harry stills, focusing on the harsh press of Wesley's fingertips as they dig into his skin through his sweater. He wonders if they will bruise, if he will have to see his regret tomorrow as much as he feels it.

"Come to mine. I'll make you lunch and we'll just hang out... Like we did before," Wesley's stare flits over Harry's face.

 _What are you looking for?_ Harry wants to ask, but he already knows. Wesley is looking for confirmation, for more of a substantial crack in Harry's refusal.  _You don't have to look,_ Harry thinks.  _We both know I'll go._

Wesley seems to find the information Harry believes he knew from the beginning, and moves his hand from Harry's bicep and down to his hand. He tangles their fingers together and holds tightly. "Let's go, yeah?" he says gently.

There's a beat of silence where Harry feels the weight building in his chest and then the apathy following after. He realizes when Wesley turns and begins pulling him, that his answer never mattered. Vaguely, he thinks that he should feel more of a resistance beneath his skin, burning where Wesley's fingers touch, but he doesn't.  _Acceptance,_ Harry thinks. He's accepted what is to come and where he will end, the in between will stay in the grey of Wesley's eyes.  _Forty-two days,_  he tells himself.

Harry lets the boy cook for him. He lets Wesley touch him when he wants and he accepts the kiss the boy presses to his lips when he moves to go home. He wonders if his heart is beating at all in his chest when he lets Wesley lock him in and lead him to the bed as if that was his intention from the beginning.  _It probably was,_ Harry admits.

There's a small part of his brain that tells him he should try and reach beyond the grey to feel something, feel  _anything,_ about the situation but he doesn't think he can. It terrifies him, like he's suffocating beneath the surface of a frozen lake, hitting the ice until his mind slips into the black. Tears streak his cheeks but Wesley doesn't see because Harry's face is buried in the sheets and Wes is busy with other things. He grips blindly at the sheets and tries to still the shaking of his shoulders because he should have seen where this was going. He's sure that he probably did. 

Calloused fingers grip at his hips as Wesley's lips pepper kisses along Harry's spine. "I did miss you," the boy breathes shallowly as he pulls Harry's boxer briefs down the lengths of his legs. 

A feeling of nausea rises in Harry's chest and he closes his eyes tightly. From the confines of his room, underneath the safety of his duvet, Harry might have thought that he missed the other boy too. Not like this though, he missed the friend, the boy who would poke at Harry's cheeks until he smiled for days. This boy is  _drowning_  him, being hasty, hurting him when he isn't strong enough to defend himself. "Wes," he says and it's weak, muffled by the sheets. 

The boy doesn't hear him and he doesn't warn Harry either, pressing inside him roughly.

Harry chokes out a sob into the sheets and the pain is enough for him to beg that the grey come back, that it drag him under into the black. He breathes in the scent of Wesley that lingers in the sheets and tries to will himself to calm. He tries to remind himself that somewhere it does feel right, when the pain subsides and the warmth fills its place. 

 _Erratic,_ Wesley's thrusts are never even. At the beginning, when the boy had first coaxed Harry into bed with him, Harry had found it amusing and a little endearing that the slightly older boy was just as untimely and hyperactive in normal settings as he was in bed. Now, he merely found it unpredictable and painful. 

He mumbles lowly in Harry's ear and kisses at his shoulders, biting and marking the skin until Wesley comes. The boy doesn't touch Harry after that, just pulls out and grabs for his clothes.

Harry does the same, knowing it's over and that the friendly facade is finished. He's lacing his boots when Wes finally acknowledges him again, "I'll see you later, Haz."

With a nod of his head, Harry ducks out and walks home with his backpack and his book.  _The next time you see me, I'll be a face in the Obituaries._

_October 29th, 2011  
Morning_

When Harry steps into the  _Departure_  terminal the morning of the first concert, he realizes that it's the first time he's been outside of his house, let alone his room, since the fifteenth. Barbara had been worried after the first few days, trying to bring him out of the room with desserts and warm drinks. By the end of the first week, Barbara gave up and Harry thanked the grey for wrapping him up and pulling him under. 

"Thank you," he says politely to the gentleman behind the ticket counter that offers him a pitying smile as he checks Harry's bag to Paris.

"Have a pleasant flight, Mr. Styles," the man says as he hands over Harry's flight information and ticket.

Harry nods and moves to the security check where the guards eye him warily and have him step aside for extra screening of his person and his backpack. By the time he finally reaches his gate, the flight attendant is calling out for final boarding. He offers the elderly attendant a tired smile before escaping onto the plane where he'll curl into a window seat next to a little girl cuddling a teddy bear as if her little life depends on it.

"Hello," he murmurs warmly to her as he steps over her little legs and settles into the seat beside her. 

She lifts her head of blonde ringlets and stares at him with big blue eyes, "Hi!"

"My names Harry," he tells her with point to himself. "What's your name?"

A smile lifts her rosy cheeks as she wraps her arms tighter around the bear in her lap, "Celeste!"

He raises an eyebrow and grins sheepishly, "What a pretty name! Well it's good to have such a great row buddy."

She nods at him before returning her attention to her bear. The two sit in silence for a while as the plane revs and takes off. 

Harry watches the clouds out the window before closing his eyes and letting the small vent above him cool his skin.  _Twenty-nine,_ he thinks,  _just twenty-nine Harry._  It's a calming thought and inwardly, he feels a little proud of himself because he made it to that point.

"Why are you so sad, Harry?" Celeste's sweet voice pulls him up from the grey for a small moment. She's peering at him from beneath her bangs with a curious look.

At first, he doesn't know what to say because this little girl is probably only seven and it would be wrong of him to tell her anything of moderate seriousness. "Some things just haven't worked out for me," he tells her after a moment.

Celeste tilts her head to the left and gives her bear a little glance as if to ask it ' _what do you think of him?'_ before giving Harry a response. "Mrs. Wendy says things don't really work out for me either," she pouts out her bottom lip and keeps her stare on the furry head of her stuffed animal. "She also says that eventually things will because things always do."

He really doesn't know what to say to that because it's so innocent and he honestly doesn't even know what to make of  _Mrs. Wendy_  or how things couldn't work out for such a sweet little girl. On that hand, he doesn't even know to what Celeste is referring to, for all he knows she could be talking about her school teacher telling her she couldn't be a princess. Honestly, damn that teacher if that is what she meant because how could she crush such brilliant dreams?

"Do you have an ouchie, Harry?" Celeste asks before he can conjure up something to put out her worries. 

"Hm?" he hums as he looks down at her again.

With gentle fingers she takes Harry's left hand and turns it over in her grasp. "Ouchies," she says again with a point to the faded and new marks etched into his skin.

There's an urge to pull his hand away drumming in his nerves but he refrains. "Yeah," Harry quietly affirms. He tries not to think too hard about how long those reddened lines have mapped his arms or about how this little girl that he's just met is the only one who has ever noticed them. 

She lets his wrist fall from her hands before untying the little blue bow from around her bear's neck. "They will get better, right?" Celeste questions softly as she fiddles with the ribbon.

"Eventually," he relents.

"Eventually, things will work out for you too," confidently, she wraps the blue ribbon around his wrist and ties a small bow on the topside near the knobby ends of his bones.

Harry thinks he might cry because he doesn't understand; he can't fathom how a little girl could say such things to him.

"Don't take it off until they do, okay?" Celeste points to the ribbon firmly and pouts out her lip again.

"Okay," Harry says as he sets his wrist back on his lap. It's a childish promise that she's given to him and he knows that there really isn't much truth to it. He leaves the ribbon in place and thinks that maybe he'll keep it on, not really for himself but for the little girl sitting next to him with so much hope for such a short lived future. 

Quiet settles among them as Celeste falls asleep with her bear hugged tightly in her arms. It's only then that Harry notices the little bruises coloring her upper arms and a queasy feeling turns in his stomach. It sort of clicks, all the little pieces about the small girl named Celeste sitting next to him on a plane. She's by herself, she's bruised, and thing's just really don't work out for her either. She's changing homes or maybe moving to a permanent one with new faces and a new family. He wonders if Mrs. Emily is her case worker or maybe her current guardian. 

When he closes his eyes, it's to the curiosity of if things will work out for the little girl sleeping soundly where her head has fallen against his arm and twenty-nine days becomes a distant hum beneath the blanket of grey that pulls him into unconsciousness. 

_**"Every morning I'm staring shadows in the eye. Oh, good morning, will you just wait until I die?** _ **_" ~Fallen by Imagine Dragons_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For updates on this fic follow thatkaitykid.tumblr.com x Thank you all so much!


	3. Hear Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know about as much French as Tom does so, be forgiving. For updates follow thatkaitykid.tumblr.com Enjoy!

_Harry Styles_   
_Currently in Paris, France_   
_October 29th, 2011_

The plane lands nearly an hour and a half later, touching down in Paris, France at half past eleven and the sun is almost as blinding where it streams through the little airplane windows as the smile that Celeste offers to Harry when she climbs out of her seat. Her little ringlets are a little disheveled from sleeping against Harry's arm as she points toward the over head bin.

"Have you got a bag?" Harry asks with a tilt of his head and a tired smile.

She rolls her eyes at him as she tightens her one armed grip around her bear's neck because clearly, Harry should know that, that is what she is trying to convey to him. "It's got a star on it," Celeste says with a huff. "Cause I'm gonna be a star some day."

A warm feeling builds in his chest and idly, Harry thinks it might be  _hope_  for her future."I bet you will be," he tells her as he slings his messenger bag over his shoulder before reaching to retrieve her's from the bin. 

"I will be," Celeste pouts out her bottom lip and narrows her eyes idnantly, there's a bit of uncertainty in the blue of her irises. It's a contradictory look really, because she almost seems afraid that Harry might doubt her ambitions and if he doubts it then how could it possibly be true? 

"I expect to see your name in lights then," Harry grins as he pulls the handle up on her suitcase and holds it out to her.

A cheek splitting grin tugs at the corners of the little girl's lips as she takes the handle and begins rolling her little suitcase toward the front of the aircraft. At the exit, a flight attendant catches her attention and begins to lead her by the hand into the airport. "Don't take it off, okay Harry?" she calls with a small wave over her shoulder. "Bye bye!"

"Bye bye," he echoes with a wave as he exits the plane and walks toward the baggage claim. He places his earbuds into his ears and tries to pay as little attention as possible to the elderly people that give him off putting looks from their seats at their gates. 

 _Sink or swim, hold your breath and just dive right in..._ Lewis Watson sings as Harry's feet fall into step with the steady beat of the song.  _Ride the wave, just, ride the wave from where we came. Don't be scared, who cares if we lose again? Let it out... Don't let doubt ever have its day._

The soles of his leather shoes tap against the carpeted flooring as Harry waits for his suitcase to appear on the conveyor belt. The bags blend together and he's sure that the majority of them are identical as they pass in front of him, waiting for their respective owners to claim them. He glances absently at the other guests in the airport and wonders if any of them have dates like he does, end times and expirations. He takes note of a wilting woman in a wheel chair with an oxygen tank on the opposite side of the baggage claim belt, and of a tired young man a little bit older than himself bouncing a carton of cigarettes against his jean clad knee. A feeling of shame overwhelms him when he ponders which one of the two will fade first, so he shifts his attention to three small children that are tagging along behind their parents, their little hands gripping at each other with laughs and grins too big for their rosy faces. 

"There we are..." Harry quietly murmurs as he catches the side handle of his suitcase and pulls it upright on the ground. He wheels the luggage behind him as he tugs his wallet from the messenger bag hanging across his chest and joins the taxi line. 

"How many?" a man asks when Harry reaches the front of the line.

Harry lifts his head and just stares for a moment. The man is a bit intimidating, his stance broad and rough. "Just me," Harry stammers.

"Line twelve," the man growls down at him before motioning to a flag further down the strip where a blue and white taxi waits. 

With a bow of his head, Harry mumbles out a  _thank you_ and shuffles quickly along the lines until he reaches the number he was instructed. 

A stout man with enough dirty scruff to be considered homeless opens the trunk and shoves Harry's suitcase into the space before slamming the lid. "Where to?" he questions and his voice is gravelly as he climbs into the driver's seat.

" _Le Meurice,"_ Harry tells him before sliding into the backseat. The cab has a grey leather interior but the gleam of the fabric has long since faded with years of less than gentle wear and tear.

"A bit fancy for a kid your age, isn't it?" it's more of a statement than anything else and it makes Harry feel guilty. 

The hotel had cost him nearly £600 for the one night. It was honestly an accident, he hadn't wanted to spend so much on a bed of all things but it was one of the closest hotels to the venue and well, a terrified part of him worried that too cheap of a room for his first night would make him miss his too big home and too big bed. He didn't want that. So, he doesn't respond to the gruff man with the curvy accent in the front seat that's driving him so kindly to his first destination but instead, he plays with the loop of the blue ribbon around his wrist. 

"£43," the cab driver holds his hand into the backseat and waits with an annoyed intake of breath.

Harry hands over the required notes and slides from the seat to retrieve his luggage. He barely manages a  _thank you_ before the cab pulls away from the curb and leaves him standing before the  _Le Meurice_ hotel. The cool weather pales his cheeks as he makes his way inside to the check in desk where a lanky man in a black suit sends him up to the ninth floor with a card key and a room service menu. 

The room, he notices, is staggeringly similar to his parents bedroom with gold and white lining every surface and lighting the room with the color's reflections alone. The bed is plush much like his own though and he takes comfort in that.

" _Sing to me, make me feel like the only one... Bring to me and I'll bring to you everything that you want. Don't be scared, who cares if we lose again?_ " Harry sings and hums along with the realization that he's left his phone on repeat as he unpacks the certain things he'll need for his one night in Paris. " _I'll be there... Oh, I'll be there with you till the end. I know, I'll be holding onto you for dear life..._ " he places his bottle of pills on the curvy white night stand beside the bed and lays himself out over the duvet for a moment.

He inhales softly and tries to will himself to remember that there's only  _twenty-nine days_ left for him. He should try to enjoy those last few days.  _What do I have to lose?_ he thinks. The thought releases the tension from his shoulders and he closes his eyes to the feeling because for a moment it feels  _good_. The expiration date in his life opens up the endless possibilities of things for him to do. He can try anything because if it gets to the point where he can't handle it, he can just bring the date a little closer. The security in his own death leaves a bitter taste in his mouth but he forces the oddity to the back of his mind. 

A faint smile curls his lips as he opens his eyes and traces the golden swirls leafing the ceiling above him. When he lifts his hand to map the silver highlights with his index finger, the smile slips from his lips and his chest tightens as his stare falls to the blue ribbon around his wrist.  _It doesn't mean anything,_ he tells himself as he lets his hand settle back onto the duvet beside himself. Absently, he tightens the little bow and pulls his phone out to check the time,  _12:57._

With a soft sigh, he unplugs his earbuds and lets Lewis Watson's voice fill the room as he pushes himself off of the bed. He tugs his sweater over his head before he pulls a lighter maroon pullover onto his frame. " _I know you'll be holding onto me for dear life, I know... Sink or swim, hold your breath and just dive right in..._ " Harry hums as he tightens the laces on his brown and green leather shoes before straightening the bottom hemline of his black skinny jeans. He runs the tips of his fingers through his curls and does his best to make sense of the mess before deciding on dragging a grey knit beanie over his hair. He lets his fringe peak out and drape across his forehead, just barely touching the top rims of his glasses.

Lazily, he surveys his appearance in the mirror above the dresser.  _This will have to do,_ he thinks with a deep breath. He checks to make sure that he has the correct concert ticket tucked into his pocket along with his room key and ID before pulling a navy coat over his shoulders. He shuts his music off letting the song continue playing quietly through his thoughts.

The door clicks shut behind him as he leaves the room and trudges down to the lobby with his phone in hand. The map is pulled up on the screen so that he can find his way easily to the venue, if he can figure out what the address for the venue is, anyway.

"Have a wonderful day, monsieur," the concierge calls to him with a subtle glance up from his scheduling books as Harry passes through the lobby. 

"Merci," Harry offers in reply, stumbling mentally through his past few years of French. He wanders out onto the street and stuffs his hands carefully into the pockets of his coat to avoid letting the winter bite at his skin. 

 _You're like a yeti,_ he hears Wesley's voice laugh, running and trashing every bit of the stability he has managed to build through out the plane flight. Harry frowns at himself, "Come on, Harry. He isn't here."

With a small shake of his head, Harry lets his mind unfocus and color in the scenes of the city around him. He's never been to Paris but the buildings are just as intricate as he remembers Barbara telling him when she used to tuck him in at night.

 _They're all very old, Harry,_ he remembers her saying.  _They're delicate and beautiful, at least they were when I was there as a little girl. If you ever get the chance, make sure you allow yourself to appreciate it all._

So, Harry does. With wide green eyes, he breathes in the Paris scenery, the buildings, the streets, the people, and the  _life_. He wonders if it's all still as beautiful as Barbara remembers it to be or if she would be disappointed by the grime he finds building on the soles of his shoes.

"Bonjour..." he offers a few weary smiles to a group of teenage girls at a corner cafe with red doors and window panes.

The girls glance at him with flighty smiles and little rolls of their eyes before returning to their conversations and mugs of coffee.

Harry shrugs into his coat more before coming to a stop near their table. "Ah, pourriez-vous me dire ou sont le Olympia, s'il vous plait...?" he waves his hands nervously as he tries to get the message across that he can't find the address for the Olympia venue and well his phone is deciding that he's currently in Bulgaria instead of France. He's sure that he's put the right words together but whether or not they're in the correct order or if he's actually asked to have a sip of one of their coffees well, he isn't so sure.

A blonde at the table tilts her head at him with an amused look. "Capucines boulevard," she tells him as her accent bends lightly around the words. "Left at the corner down there and then a right at the stop sign. That isn't the street but you'll see the line, if there is one, from right there," with a point in the direction she informed him of, she returns to her friends and her drink.

"T-Thank you...!" Harry stammers as he quickly heads off with her instructions in mind. He nearly stops in the middle of turning right at the designated stop sign because she was correct in her information. The line curves around the corner toward a sign that reads  _Boulevard des Capucines_ and when he checks the time on his phone to find it's only  _13:40_ , he heaves a heavy sigh. "Eh, quelle est cette... ligne pour?" Harry tries to ask and he's almost definitely sure that he should enroll in another French class because it shouldn't be this difficult for him to form simple sentences. 

The young man bringing up the end of the line turns to look at him with a blank stare. "What?" his accent is American and a little flippant.

Harry wonders how many dirty looks the guy has probably received since arriving in the area with out knowing or using the slightest bit of French. "Oh, I was just asking what the line was for?" he repeats softly with a glance down at his own shoes and the man's in front of him. He watches the curve of the man's shoes as he shifts his weight back and forth.

"Imagine Dragons," the guy informs him with a grin before he sweeps his blond hair away from his face. The tips of his bangs are dyed a maroon color that's similar to Harry's jumper. He seems to be a little bit older than Harry. "You here for the same thing?" he asks as he rubs his large hands over his thin arms. He's wearing a light t-shirt and Harry can't help but wonder if he's as cold as he makes Harry feel.

"Ah, yeah. Thanks," Harry answers with a bow of his head.  

A hand is shoved in Harry's direction as the young man fishes a carton of cigarettes out of his pocket with his other hand, "I'm Tom." He taps out one of the remaining cigarettes as he waits for Harry to respond.

"Harry," he shakes the extended hand as he follows the line of the cigarette Tom brings to his lips. 

Tom nods briefly as he lights the end of the cylinder and inhales deeply, his blue eyes closing for the moment. "You're not from around here either then," Tom says as the smoke wisps around his words.

"From Wales actually," Harry answers. He wonders tiredly when talking to strangers became such an easy thing for him to do, especially strangers with broad shoulders and blue eyes just like someone he wishes he could drown. 

"Thought you were British or something," Tom waves his cigarette dismissively before taking another long drag. 

 _English,_ Harry thinks,  _it's English not British._

"You're a little young to be out here alone, aren't you?" the other man asks after he exhales.

A bit of the smoke drifts around Harry's face and the smell curls in his lungs dryly, "I'm seventeen actually." Tiny bits of wonder filter through Harry's thoughts as his stare falls to the cherry of the cigarette. People have begun to fill in the space of sidewalk behind where they stand as the day ticks on.

"Still a little young, isn't it?" Tom watches him curiously. "No matter, want one?" he asks as he searches around in his pocket before bringing a blue and white cigarette carton into their line of sight.  _Marlboro_  is written in large letters with _Skyline_ a little bit above the brand in a smaller font.

 _Bring the date closer,_ a loud voice echoes through Harry's head. "Well, I..." Harry begins.

"Shit, you're not trying to quit or something are you?" Tom pulls the carton a little bit out of Harry's reach with a guilty look on his face. "You're young to even be..."

Honestly, Harry's really getting tired of being called young. He takes the carton from Tom's slender fingers and fishes out one of the almost all white cylinders before handing the package back.

Tom is giving him a quizzical look but he seems to let it go as he shrugs and holds out his own lighter, "Sorry."

 _It can't be that difficult,_ Harry tells himself as he places the paper between his lips with the small blue ring closest to him. He tries to think of the last time he saw Gemma on her balcony before she left for university in a town too far for him to follow. He remembers watching her cheeks hallow as she breathed in and caught the end with the flame of a silver zippo before she breathed out softly. Tiredly, he wonders if she still smokes and then his chest tightens when he wanders across the idea that maybe she was just aiming for a slower end than he was.

The tip of his thumb runs across the the edge of the flint wheel and he watches intently as the gas flickers into a flame. Deeply, he breathes in and lets the smoke fill his lungs and coat his insides with warmth. It burns a little and dries his breaths into thin wisps that cause him to wonder if he might just send himself into an asthma attack. With that, he wonders if he would even care if that were to occur.

"You don't have to hold it in. It isn't weed," Tom chuckles at him as he tucks his carton and lighter back into his pocket.

Harry laughs himself into a coughing fit as the smoke filters through his lips, "Thanks."

"No problem," the other man grins down at him with a knowing look that says  _I know you've never done this or that before._

With a small shrug, Harry brings the cigarette to his lips again and inhales a little bit lighter. He feels the nervous tremor of his hands begin to alleviate as he exhales.  _Marlboro Skyline's,_ Harry thinks and wonders just exactly how much a pack of the little things would actually cost him if he were to consider buying some of his own. 

"Is this your first Imagine Dragons concert?" Tom asks after a few beats too many of silence where they both just let their breathing unfurl with clouds of smoke in the cool air.

"First of nineteen," Harry answers before cursing himself for how ridiculously bratty that sounds.

Tom doesn't seem to mind though as he takes one last drag and stomps out the cherry with the tip of his shoe. "You're following them? That's pretty awesome. I actually won this trip from a fast food place,  _Raising Cane's_ , I was gonna bring my girlfriend but she fucked off last month," he says nonchalantly with a raising of his sharp shoulders and a glance toward the overcast sky.

"Sorry," Harry tells him as he watches the wind smoke the rest of his cigarette for him. He tosses the burned out paper into the street as a car passes them by.

"Eh, she had a kid and what not to begin with. Not a good match for a guy like me," Tom shrugs again before fetching another cigarette from his pocket. He places the cylinder behind his ear, carefully making sure it won't fall before letting his hand drop back to his side.

They slip into silence then while Tom meanders on to chat up the girls a few places ahead of him in line and Harry stays in his spot. Boredly, Harry plays SIMS on his phone until the sun starts to fade behind the buildings and one of his characters has somehow managed to give birth to twins of different races.  _Tried to tell you to keep your legs closed, Tina._

"It's cold," a slightly higher voice growls to the person the voice is walking with. The young man is a bit shorter than his companion and has a pair of skinny white jeans on with a black hoodie that's currently covering his head. "I can't believe you locked my bag in the closet. Are you that fucking worried about me having a heat stroke or sweating to death in the middle of  _winter_?" the young man scoffs as he passes where Harry stands.

The other man slings his arm over the shorter man's shoulders and tugs him into his side, "Oh, shut up. You'll thank me when you're against the gate with a drunk crowd trying to grope you from every angle. Plus, I need you to get me a few from-the-pit shots of the band, you know, a video or two also." His dark hair is covered mostly with a white knit beanie. He's dressed a bit warmer than the shorter lad.

"And, how come you get to wear the coat? Hm? Making me do all your work?" the shorter man huffs as he pushes the other lad away.

Harry wonders if his face is as soft and sharp as his voice.

"You're going to get wrinkles if you keep making that face, dear. I'm going to be backstage getting footage from there and interviews with the opening band. Don't worry, I'll get you some of that flavored vodka Niall told me you like to warm you up. How's that sound?" the taller of the two pouts and reaches out a hand to pat at the other lad's shoulder. 

The two disappear around the corner of the line that leads toward the Olympia and Harry exhales softly. The line begins to move soon after and Tom doesn't return to the spot in front of him. Harry stuffs his hands into his pockets and follows the crowd into the venue where a burly man in a too tight black t-shirt checks his ticket and draws X's on his hands in permanent marker before sending him inside. 

_One of nineteen. Let's see how far I make it._

_**"Can nobody hear me? I got a lot that's on my mind. I cannot breathe, can you hear it too?" Hear Me by Imagine Dragons** _

_Louis Tomlinson_  
Currently in Paris, France  
October 29th, 2011

By the time the support band is leaving the stage, he's had enough, so much so that his drinks are starting to taste a whole lot more like desperation and a whole lot less like strawberry. The kind security guy that keeps walking in front of Louis' spot, where he's crushed against the gate by three hundred too many sweaty bodies, keeps sending the little girl in the skimpy dress over to him with drinks.

Honestly, Louis isn't sure if Nick had a word with the guard about it or if the guard himself is trying to get Louis so drunk that he's going to see ten Dan Reynolds instead of just one. He doesn't quite mind though because the buzz feels good and it lets the bass drum pleasantly beneath his skin. 

The lights above the stage brighten and the crowd gives a cheer before dying down again when Nick meanders to the center of the stage. "What a pleasant welcome," Nick grins with his Canon camera hanging loosely from his neck. 

Louis laughs because Nick just looks so small and out of place on the large stage. The sound causes him to spill half of his Sobe-vodka on the shoes of the security guard who just shakes his head and smiles back at him. The gesture makes Louis a little nauseous. 

"I just need to get a quick photograph. So, everybody scream and wave your arms about on three," Nick instructs as he raises his camera. He doesn't bother with French but the loose crowd doesn't seem to be bothered.

The crowd shifts around behind and against Louis, preparing for the countdown and the flash. 

"One... Two... Three!" 

Screams, shouts, and profanities fill the space as Louis throws his drink hand in the air. The rest of his Sobe-vodka ends up on a group of girls three people behind him as Nick's flash blinds them all in the dim pit lighting. 

"Cheers," Nick nods his head before disappearing into the backstage area again. 

The stage lights drop into pitch blackness and the screams are back in Louis' ears with a deafening decibel. His pulse quickens as the anticipation builds because he knows who's face he will see only a meter or three from his own. The half moon backdrop lights up and flickers in colorful segments as the silhouettes of the band members enter the stage from where Nick disappeared to. 

A girl to Louis' left grips at his bicep as she jumps up and down against the metal gate. Her nails dig into his skin and he really wants to tell her to retract the talons but the sound of a drum beat brings his attention back to the stage and away from the pain. 

With each beat, the spotlight encircles the man hitting the large drum with his palm.

"Dan fucking Reynolds..." Louis whispers out as a fresh drink is pressed into his hand. He loses track of his pulse as a guitar riff kicks in with the bass following along soon after.  _Breathe Lou, breathe,_ he coaches himself as his free hand latches onto the cool steel pressed against his ribs. 

"Bonsoir," Dan grins into his microphone.

Louis isn't breathing,  _no_ , he really probably isn't. He's going to categorize Dan Reynolds saying  _good evening_  in French as his new favorite reason for existing. He tries to take everything in, the tight curve of the singer's black jeans on his thin frame, the loose white of his t-shirt that the fan in the back of the room blows pleasantly, and,  _oh God_ , his hair. Louis thinks it's probably better than he ever imagined it to be: it's fluffy, light, and Zayn totally owes him £20 because it's definitely blow-dried in all of its faux hawk glory. 

"This is Round and Round," Dan adjusts the hem of his sleeves as he speaks. " _We are all living the same way, the same way... We are escaping the same way, the same way... Circling, ooh. We are a part of the same play..."_

Drool is probably dripping off his chin but Louis doesn't care because this is actually happening. He's actually in the presence of one of his favorite people and that never happens for him, he never gets opportunities like that. He's going to have to offer Niall a favor of sorts, maybe dye his hair black for a night, put in hazel contacts, and give him a blowjob. The thought weighs in his mind and on any other more sober of a day, he would probably feel bad for making a joke of Niall's unrequited love but now it doesn't feel so bad, the thought doesn't leave a bitter taste in his mouth.

The cool edge of his plastic cup bends as he tosses back the sticky liquid, it tastes more like sprite than it does vodka and he wonders absently what kind of drinks Dan might have with him if he were given the chance to well, have drinks with Dan. 

" _We are afflicted by fiction, by fiction... Building a case for eviction, eviction..."_ Dan Reynolds sings as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

 _Jack and coke,_ Louis thinks with a point of his hand that's somehow managing to grip his own drink.  _You would drink Jack and coke, I bet._

The security guard blocks his view of Dan as the middle of the band's set finishes with  _Cha-Ching_. "Would you like to meet the band?" he asks gruffly against Louis' cheek.

There's a part of Louis' hazed mind that reminds him Nick had promised that at one point or another during the trip, Louis would get to meet Dan, but the other part of his mind is screaming  _meet Dan Reynolds now._ So, he nods his head fiercely and tosses his empty plastic cup behind him, probably toward the group of girls he drenched earlier in the night. 

With a grin, the security guard reaches over the gate and lifts Louis by his waist over the metal railing. The crowd fills in his spot as the guard lets his feet touch the spacious ground again.

"Bastards better let me have my spot back when I come back!" Louis yells at the too skinny girl who waves her drink dismissively in his face. 

" _Where do we go from here? Where do we go from here?"_ the singer echoes from the stage.

 _Valid question Danny dear,_ Louis feels a smile splitting his own face as the guard leads him away from the pit area. He feels light and pleasant, the previous cold having left his system as soon as the alcohol began to drown him out. 

A heated hand is pressed against his lower back and it burns straight through his hoodie. "You won't need your spot back, kid," the guard mumbles lowly in Louis' ear. The brittle scruff on his jaw scratches Louis' cheek.

"You... You know my friend is backstage already? He isn't really my friend actually. I just met him yesterday... He's kind of a huge fucking asshole..." Louis tries to steady the words that run from his mouth at a speed his head doesn't seem up for keeping pace with under the current circumstances. 

"Mmhmm," the guard hums as he opens a door toward the side stage area that leads to a room that is so, so bright. Everything's off white and just  _off._

Louis tries to trace the spinning tiles that are floating through his vision to remember why he's seen this space before because it clearly isn't where he's supposed to go or be going for that matter. "What are we doing in here...?" Louis slurs out as he catches a glimpse, or  _ten_ , of himself in the mirror above, what he registers to be, a row of sinks.

The hand moves from Louis' back to his mouth as the guard's voice filters into the blur of his thoughts, "I really didn't think you would talk so much."

And,  _oh,_ Louis starts to understand. The edge of the sink's counter digs into his hips when the guard shifts him around and fleetingly, Louis thinks he should try to run but his legs seem to disagree. His limbs feel heavy and he closes his eyes tightly because  _right now would be a great time to sober up, Louis._ "Wait, you know, I can always meet them later. I would really like to go back to the pit now. Take me back to the pit, please," he tries to wonder when begging and politeness became a part of his escape etiquette but he's still drowning and there is definitely a hand tugging down his trousers. Panic settles in his skin because this is  _familiar_  and it's terrifying. 

"Shut up and I will," the words are empty and dry against the back of Louis' neck as the guard's hand presses harder against his mouth. 

The sound of a belt unbuckling fills Louis' ears and he really wishes he didn't have to see his reflection in this mess because he's seeing a whole lot of eight year old Louis in the mirror and _,_   _God,_ he doesn't need that. 

"One city, Tomlinson. This is the first city and you're already fucking off in the bathroom? I'm impressed and a bit surprised by your choice," Nick's lazy voice clears his head.

Taken aback, the guard moves away for a moment and Louis stumbles to yank his pants up. He feigns embarrassment as he fumbles with the zipper because his hands are shaking. "I think I'm gonna take you up on your offer to stand backstage..." Louis huffs out as he tries desperately to focus on Nick's shoes and not the way that the guard stares at him. 

Nick eyes him warily before giving the guard a head tilt and a curious look, "Sure." He holds the bathroom door open and lets Louis walk out into the dim lighting before following shortly after. "A little drunk, are we darling?" he asks as the guard heads back toward the stage area.

Blearily, Louis whips around on his heel, "Just shut the fuck up." He can feel the tremors running through his veins and making his knees weak as he tries not to fall in the direction of one out of the 180 degrees that he just turned in. 

With a raise of his eyebrows, Nick purses his lips, "Let's get you some water. The shows almost over and I don't want you vomiting all over me in the taxi back to the room."

"I didn't get any pictures..." Louis tells him after a beat of silence.

The other lad shrugs his shoulders and leads him into a room with black walls and an array of soft seating. "There are eighteen other shows," Nick relents as he grabs a bottle of water from a bowl of ice and drinks. "Sober up, princess."

"Is Dan Reynolds going to come in here?" Louis asks as he struggles to unscrew the lid before taking a long sip of the chilled beverage.

"No. You didn't really think I would take you back where the bands are with you like this, did you?" Nick rolls his eyes and settles into an arm chair across from where Louis is sprawled out on a couch. "You're an embarrassment. This is the room where they stash the kids who pass out in the pit."

A part of Louis tries to find the anger and irritation that he would normally feel for the other lad, but the emotion isn't appearing and all he feels is gratitude for Nick's timing. "You're a dick," Louis sighs as he lays his head back against the cushions. He can still feel the warm press of an unwelcome hand against his spine and he thinks he might be sick because of it rather than the copious amounts of alcohol pulsing through his veins. 

"I don't want to hear you whining tomorrow about your hangover. We've got a four hour drive to Lyon in the morning," Nick grinds the words out as he runs his fingers through his quiff.

It's almost like sandpaper hitting stone when Louis lets out a small groan. "Will you make me tea in the morning?" he asks.

"I'm not your mummy," Nick thumps Louis on the head with the lens of his camera. "Get up, Lewis. I'm taking you to the hotel. We're going to skip out on the rest of the concert," he unzips his coat and drops it onto Louis' face before he trudges out of the room.

With stumbling footsteps and wobbly knees, Louis follows after Nick. He pulls the too big coat over his arms and tries not to breathe in the scent of the other lad. It's a whole lot of Bleu de Chanel, that spins his head with a tint of mint, sweat, and boy that Louis doesn't want to focus too hard on because it actually smells _comfortable._  Louis really doesn't want Nick Grimshaw and comfortable to be associated with each other. 

"Keep up, will you cupcake?" Nick calls over his shoulder as they begin to pass the pit area. 

" _Below my soul I feel an engine collapsing as it sees the pain. If only I could shut it out. I've come too far to see the end now..."_ Dan Reynolds sings out from where he stands on the gate with his head bent over the crowd.

 _That was my spot,_ Louis thinks with a sigh.

A bony shoulder collides with Louis' bringing his attention back to the task at hand,  _walking._ "Sorry..." the person apologizes in a voice so husky that Louis barely hears it over the band still playing on the stage. The boy is standing on the edge of the pit crowd with his shoulders slumped. He smells faintly of cigarettes and...

"Really, can't even walk properly now?" Nick latches onto Louis' arm and drags him away from the boy with enough curls for little gnomes to live in for the winter. "Sorry, mate," he calls back to the boy as he tugs Louis along.

"Can I meet Dan tomorrow?" Louis questions as he leans into Nick's grip.

Nick glances at him before shaking his head, "Darling, you're not going to want to meet him tomorrow. I'm pretty sure you'll be in the bathroom hugging porcelain all day."

The early winter air stings Louis' cheeks and ruffles Nick's hair. While Nick hails a cab, Louis thinks that maybe he's wasted a good day and that he's in Paris but somehow still hasn't seen the Eiffel tower.  _Liam would be so upset,_ he thinks.  _He would tell me I'm ill cultured and not a proper tourist._

"Think it's time for bed," Nick huffs when Louis' head lolls onto his shoulder. " _Hotel de Belfort_ , s'il vous plait," he tells the cab driver once the door is shut with both boys tucked safely inside.

"Bien sûr..." the driver's gruff voice fills the backseat before the cab lurches and continues onto the road.

The tips of Louis' eyelashes fan his cheeks and flutter against the little freckles there as he tries to keep his eyes open. Nick is warm though and he smells just as comfortable as his coat. "Sing me to sleep, dickhead," Louis mumbles out.

"I don't sing," Nick shoves Louis off of his shoulder as he leans into the window on his side of the cab.

"Why? Too much dick in your mouth?" Louis laughs as his nose wrinkles and he curls into the other side of the cab. 

Nick rolls his eyes before paying the driver when the cab stops in front of a dimly lit building. Canopies with  _Hotel de Belfort_ painted on them shade the doors and windows as the boys climb out of the yellow cab. They make their way inside and murmur  _hello's_ to the half asleep desk attendant before climbing four sets of richety wooden stairs.

"401... 402..." Nick mumbles as they pass painted red and white doors with golden numbers nailed to them. "405," he stops as he pulls a key from his pocket. There's a blue tassel hanging from the key ring and Louis blindly wonders how it could have possibly fit in Nick's pocket. 

The two boys wander inside and pause at the foot of the bed. They had seen the single queen bed when they arrived at the hotel earlier in the day but now it just seems threatening, daring the two of them to consider sleeping together in its sheets.

"Get your jammies on, you stink," Nick tells him as he shuts the room door and unlocks the closet. 

A puff of breath fogs around Louis' lips as he maneuvers himself into the closet to change. Briefly, he wonders how the hotel can continue to house guests without so much as an effort at heating the rooms. He can hear Nick digging through his own suitcase while he undresses. The outlines of his shaky hands become progressively less in quantity as he realizes that he's beginning to sober up. He tugs on a pair of loose joggers and pulls a hoodie over his head. The garment smells like spice and cider,  _Zayn._ A small smile turns up the corners of his lips as he exits the closet and curls into the side of the bed closest to him. 

The top of Nick's fluffy hair is the only bit of the other boy that is visible from beneath the thin, red duvet. "We've got to be up at nine," Nick's voice is muffled by the sheets.

"Fuck that," Louis grumbles as he shuffles closer to Nick's warmth in what he thinks is a subtle manner but the springs of the mattress creak and Nick scoots further away.

"I don't want your drunk cuddles," the taller lad moves one of the extra pillows into the space between his back and Louis' chest.

So, Louis buries himself more in Zayn's hoodie and tries not to think too hard about how he already misses his friends or about the feeling of too warm hands on his skin in the bathroom of a city he's only been to once. His phone buzzes on the nightstand causing him to turn over and reach out a heavy arm into the chill of the open air to grab the device. 

 _I'm cold,_ the message reads and he tries to will away the tears that threaten to spill over his cheeks at the sight of Zayn's name on the screen. 

After bringing the sheets over his head, Louis types out a reply and cuddles the pillow in between himself and Nick closer to his chest.  _Miss you too,_ is what he ends up sending in response. He closes his eyes for a small moment and wills his mind to think about Zayn smashed against his back between himself and Liam with Niall snoring against Louis' chest.

The screen lights up once more as Louis opens his eyes to focus on the hazy pixels,  _Lou, I've got to tell you something._

His shoulders stiffen a little as he tries to think through all the possible things that Zayn could plausibly have to tell him before his mind settles on a sick little blond with a heart bigger than his pockets,  _Niall._ There's a part of him that tries to remember to stay calm because this has really been a long time coming and he's a little upset that he wasn't there to witness the exchange where Zayn decided to stop being oblivious and Niall decided to be ten times more forward. He imagines that Zayn was probably heating up some soup while Liam went out to pick up some prescriptions and Niall was sitting at the table in his oversized sweater and shorts. Niall probably told Zayn he was beautiful.  _No,_ Niall probably serenaded him with a song, something like Lewis Watson's  _Calling._ He can picture Niall hoarsely running through ' _Man, it feels like an eternity but things are moving fast for you and me. We've seen the best and worst of everything but we couldn't be in better company tonight. You know why I'm calling, so don't spend the night alone.'_ Louis snorts to himself and Nick throws a hand behind him to bat at Louis' face.  _  
_

"Sorry, sorry," Louis apologizes with a dry laugh as sleep and the remnants of vodka begin to tug him into unconsciousness. His phone buzzes with one last message just before his eyes close.

_Henry wilted._

_**"From the floor to the floor, from the sky to the sky, you've got to love and adore, the rest is awry. And, if you've won, you can't relate to me." Hear Me by Imagine Dragons** _


	4. Every Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible trigger warnings, as always read with caution! 
> 
> For updates and other fanfic related things follow me on tumblr: thatkaitykid.tumblr.com

_Louis_   _Tomlinson_  
 _Currently in Paris,_   _France_  
 _October 30th, 2011_

He's going to murder Nick. 

Louis is straight up going to place Nick's stupidly floppy quiffed head into the toilet and drown him in the bottomless mess that Louis plans to fill the bowl with beforehand. 

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine! You make me happy when skies are grey!" Nick shouts from the bathroom doorway just like he has been in this terrible off-key, dead cat falling off a high rise manner that he has been for the last half hour. 

 _Deep breaths, Louis. Count to five and it will stop. It's just a nightmare,_ Louis squeezes his eyes shut tighter and tries to ease his thoughts away from murderous intent, back to the gentle tracing of  _s-l-e-e-p._ But, no matter how many fives Louis counts to, Nick's voice doesn't stop and sleep doesn't drag him back under. "For fuck's sake, you shit!" Louis throws back the thin duvet and slams his barefeet down on the brittle carpet. 

"I'll always love you and make you happy if you will only say the same!" Nick starts to lean his head out of the doorway as a grin curls his lips. 

As Louis' fists wind at his sides, he tries really hard to remember how to remove bloodstains from fabric.  _Spot Shot,_ he tells himself as his jaw clenches and his teeth grind together in frustration.  _Soak it up with a rag first and then spray it with Spot Shot._ "Nick," Louis carves the name out with enough venom to bring down a buffalo, or well, a small mammal, Louis' tired. He trudges a step further a way from the bed and reaches out to grab for the lapel of Nick's black blazer. 

"But if you leave me to love another," Nick sing-songs in his face, flipping the blowdryer onto full blast. "You'll regret it all one day," his voice drops a few octaves as he hisses the last line through a shit eating grin.

"TURN IT OFF NICK!" Louis shouts, the air blowing burns into his freckled cheeks and drying the lenses of his contacts that he had forgotten to remove the night before.  _I have to spend all of my time with a cheery bastard, a family of dickish Woodpeckers have set up residence in my skull, and fucking Henry's dead._

After a small moment, Nick obliges and turns off the dryer, "Good morning, sunshine. It's currently  _8_ _:37_  and it's Sunday. The weather outside is a whopping 8℃ and if the pounding of your self inflicted hangover has drowned out all other aspects of the world around you, then you should know that it's currently raining torrentially outside."

 _Perfect, now I can drown you in something that will wash itself away,_ Louis clenches and unclenches his fist for a few moments as his blue stare stays even with Nick's hazel. 

"We have to take a cab to the rental car center, then, we'll be heading up to Lyon. It's day two of the tour cycle, princess! Can't be partied out yet?" Nick pouts out his bottom lip and rolls his eyes at Louis before returning to a spot in front of the bathroom mirror. 

"Please tell me we're not driving to every concert venue," Louis rotates his shoulders and rubs the palms of his hands over his eyes. He'll just have to breathe his way through this trip, remind himself of the exercises -- pogo... toga? -- Zayn does on their day off that Louis had previously filed mentally under  _useless/stupid/what-the-fuck-is-this-sorcery._

With his slender fingers slicking small bits of gel through his fringe, Nick glances at Louis in the mirror, "It depends. As of the moment, we're driving from here to Lyon. That's four or something hours. Then, we're going from Lyon to Strasbourg and that's, again, another four or so hours. Back to Paris after that and from there, Scott should have us a flight booked to Amsterdam." 

"That's..." Louis begins.

"If you dare vomit in the car," Nick points his toothbrush at Louis' face. "I will be sure that you have your drunk cuddles with a pair of Black Widows. Angry, husbandless, widows of _death_ ," he narrows his eyes before brushing his teeth. 

He cringes at the thought of crawling into bed with something that has eight legs and could potentially crawl all over him, or more importantly, _kill him_. So, Louis grumbles out a 'dick head' before peeling off his clothes and changing into a pair of loose joggers and a baby blue pull over that will keep him warm enough so that if he has to stick his head out the window to keep from being sick all over his prat of a chauffeur, he won't freeze his lips off. He kind of, probably, really needs to keep those for things. 

"Can you at least drink some mouthwash or something? Christ," Nick scowls as Louis moves to sprawl himself out on the bed.

"Can you not wake me up with your ungodly singing?" Louis flips through the messages he received while he was sleeping.

There's a _Zayn showed me your plant this morning. If it's any consolation, I think it died because he actually over watered it in one night,_ from Liam. And a  _on this day, one year ago a lovely little seedling was brought into the humble Tomlinson-Malik abode. Henry was a gentle soul and brought life as well as clean air to the smog filled hovel of Manchester. Sadly, Henry has passed and will be joining a terarium in the sky. Henry Tomlinson-Malik October 2010 - October 2011 RIP,_  from Niall. There's no word from Zayn, but Louis thinks that he's probably in the middle of doing some lunar lunge that requires his centered energy or something. 

"Really, get up. We need to get going. Brush that stank from your breath. It's janky," Nick lugs his suitcase around toward the door and levels Louis with a look.

A deep sigh settles in his chest as Louis shoves himself off the bed and does as he's told. The mint flavoring makes him a bit queasy but he forces down the nausea and rinses his mouth before zipping his bag and trudging after Nick. 

They crowd into the back of a taxi after checking out of the small hotel, Nick with his cup of --"This can't really be coffee, it looks like sand,"-- scalding coffee and Louis with his phone clutched tightly in his shivering fingers. " _Hertz_ car rental," Nick breathes to the cabby who seems to have very little interest in their presence. 

The taxi lurches forward and a clustered silence fills the air around them. It seems that the weather is just as Nick had described it, although Louis would hate to really acknowledge that anything from Nick could actually be  _right._ Rain pelts the windows of the cab leaving them bitterly chilled and a bit squeaky on the seats. There's a covering of clouds that threaten to drown out the city but the morning is Louis' first real chance to take the city in, the lamp posts that give warm golden glows to those who unfortunately have to walk beneath them in the unbidden weather and the painted buildings with dim indoor lighting that beckon for the lost to come inside. It all leaves a pleasant calm in Louis' chest as he breathes softly and fogs a small spot in the cab window each time. He traces the streets they pass and wonders gently if he'll ever be back, or if this is it for him, this night in Paris simply his last. The serenity drains the color from his cheeks as the cab stops and the unbidden thoughts begin to tumble through his head. He could see his sisters playing in the streets here, running through puddles and painting smiles on the faces of strangers. The nausea is back and he doesn't think it will be going anywhere now.

Nick hands over a few bills to the driver and thanks him as they retrieve their bags from the boot. A tan building looms ahead of them on the sidewalk with an illuminated sign that reads _Hertz_ as the rain begins to dampen their clothing further. 

Patiently, Louis waits to the side while Nick fills out a Rental Agreement and the kind gentleman behind the counter offers to retrieve their vehicle for them so that they don't have to wander in the rain again. The offer is really for the tip that Nick passes across the counter though, Louis realizes, before the young man takes a set of keys and runs out to their carpark.

"Didn't rent a mini Van now did you?" Louis leans his back against the counter and crosses his arms warmly over his stomach. 

"Course. Town and Country all the way. It's a great vehicle you know, I was thinking of gifting you one for Christmas so you can cart around all of your misery," Nick grins at him with a tilt of his head before sauntering over to the glass Exit doors. 

 _Tch._ With a purse of his lips, Louis drags his feet along, following Nick with his own personal rain cloud. Mildly, he contemplates the thought of if he could think and wish about it hard enough, could he some how conjure up a lightning bottle to throttle the other lad with. "How many hours did you say this leg was?" he grinds out as they both slip into a small Nissan Altima Coupe. 

The vehicle's clean, leather interior is warm and it takes Louis only three small moments to realize their seats are _heated_. Louis thanks whatever God, that probably isn't listening nor has ever listened to him, because it feels brilliant on his bum. 

"Four and a half, really do you ever listen to a thing that comes from anyone else? Or, does your big ego drown out everything else?" Nick scowls at him as he pulls the car into drive and begins following the navigation system toward a red flag on the map that reads  _Lyon, France._

"At least my head isn't as far up my arse as yours is," Louis grumbles before burrowing himself further into the black leather beneath him. He slicks his damp fringe away from his face and heaves a frustrated sigh because his everything is just sticking to him. 

A low laugh escapes Nick as he eases the blue car onto the A6, the rain nearly blurring out the road ahead of them entirely. "My ego is up your arse then? Thank you for considering me such a humble being and that I'm _so_ humble, I keep my ego in someone else's arse," he taps his fingers against the steering column with a chuckle.

He's not going to win, Louis' realized that in his few days with Nick. He's never going to win with Nick because some how the words that seem to find their distasteful little ways out of Louis' mouth can always be twisted in Nick's favor. It would probably be a little more helpful to Louis if he were to consider being sober and not hungover when he has conversations with the other lad.

So, for the first half hour of the trip, Louis reevaluates his decision to drown himself through out the majority of this tour. The cons, he's realized, aren't all that numerous, one, he loses verbally to Nick --although he won't admit this to Nick himself--, two, he has to deal with the morning after because he's usually one to forget the need to mix in some glasses of water with his alcohol, and lastly, Louis puts himself at risk of stupid, stupid, stupid decisions such as allowing himself to be dragged to bathrooms with strangers. He huffs out a breath at the last one. The pros are, one, the buzz feels great and keeps him warm since Nick finds it necessary to put him at risk for pneumonia, two, he achieves the opportunity to vomit all over Nick, three, he gets to relax, four, alcohol is good, five, alcohol, six, Louis doesn't have a problem, and seven, _mm_ alcohol. 

" _Just gonna stand there and watch me burn,_ " Nick sings with mock passion as they begin passing through _Monéteau._ " _But that's alright because I like the way it hurts! Just gonna stand there and hear me cry! But that's alright because I love the way you lie-eye-eye-eye don't even know why I think your bleached blond hair is hot!_ " 

"For fuck's sake, if you're going to keep singing that top forty shit can you at least sing the right lyrics?" Louis grumbles from where he's got his cheek pressed against the cold glass window. His eyes are shut in the hopes that maybe if he doesn't see the bastard in the driver's seat, the bastard might just disappear because seeing is believing, right? Louis wishes he believed Nick was just a speck of dust that he could blow out the window. Well, that is until he realizes that would then put Louis in the position of having to drive himself all the way to _Lyon_ and then to _Strasbourg_ and that sounds highly unpleasant. 

Leaning over the center console, Nick choruses louder at him, "I love, la-la-love, love the way you lie!" 

"Fucking hell," Louis groans as he covers his ears with his sweater sleeves. The pitch of Nick's voice is just perfect for strumming along to the tune of the pounding in Louis' brain. He's beginning to think that Nick is trying to set up real estate on his Hypothalamus, egging on his pain receptors so that he can feel every time Nick breathes like a needle prick or a pinch of his skin. 

By the time Nick pulls them into the carpark of a small shop by the name of  _Le Troc' café_  in _Lyon_ ,Louis is considering honorable suicide with the thought of  _if you can't end him, end you._ "What are we doing here? Shouldn't we go check into the hotel?" Louis scowls at the painted red panels with white lettering as they escape the confines of the car.

"We don't have a hotel in Lyon," Nick shrugs his shoulders, walking ahead of Louis and opening the shop's door to escape the light drizzle. "We're driving straight to Strasbourg after the show tonight. It was the cheaper option for the station when they planned this all."

Now, Louis loves efficiency as much as the next poor bastard but that would mean arriving in Strasbourg at around  _3:00_ in the morning if Nick's  _four or something hours_ time scale is anything to go by. "You're kidding," Louis rubs a hand through his hair and tries to make sense of the odd way it seemed to dry on the ride over.

With a shake of his head, Nick waves him into the shop, "Not in the slightest, darling." 

Artwork lines the walls of the small shop from ceiling to floor with small, round, and red tables scattered about the white tiled floor. Against the back wall there's the order counter with an array of coffee machines as well as a bakery display case where the barista, an average height lad with dark brown hair and a little bit of baby fat still lingering in his cheeks, is adding fresh Blueberry muffins to one of the trays.

In the right corner, near the entrance, there's a young girl with wavy blonde hair strumming at an acoustic guitar with careful, slender fingers. " _Ruffled hair and a loose shoestring; covered arms and a nose ring. He's just misguided, I think,"_ she sings daintily, her pink lips curving gently around the words.

"Welcome, welcome," the lad at the counter grins at them. His name tag reads  _Stan L._ "What can I get for you today?" his accent is light, possibly an international student in on a Visa.

The fresh muffins look rather delightful to Louis and his hangover, "I'll have one of those muffins you just put in the case as well as a small Chocolate Chip frozen thingy."

"Frozen thingy and a muffin... €15, if you will," Stan holds his hand out toward Louis after writing on a clear plastic cup. "We accept cash only."

 _Cash only?_ Louis pauses, his hand mid reach into his pocket for his Debit card, "I don't..." 

"Don't have cash, don't worry. You can barter off your belongings," Stan grins a little wider at him, his hands placed firmly on the sides of the till. 

"Can you spot me..." Louis begins with a glance at Nick's face.

His companion, if Louis could call the prat that, is beaming at the situation. "I've only got enough for mine," Nick bats his eyelashes at Louis and pouts out an apology.

"Oh, bull shit! Come on, Nick!" Louis furrows his eyebrows and grinds his teeth together. "You're the one that told me not to carry any cash. I wouldn't need it, you said," he's going to murder Nick with that lovely little singing girl's guitar and bury him under a mountain of muffins.

Nick shrugs his shoulders, "Sorry, Lou-Lou."

"For fuck's sake," Louis unwinds the soft white cable-knit scarf from around his neck and holds it over the counter. Niall had bought the scarf for him in early January when Louis landed himself in A & E with a combination of strep throat and pneumonia. It's one of Louis' favorites and he remembers wearing it that night at the hospital for, as he had told Niall, the article was blessed with Irish remedies. Louis' fever broke within the hour and he was sent home the next morning. The thing has more value than it looks. 

"What do you think, Nina?" Stan holds the scarf up for the little girl with the guitar to see. "Worth a muffin and a frozen thingy?"

Setting her guitar down on a stand, Nina crosses the little shop. The few guests in the place are eyeing them with cheshire like grins that tell Louis this happens often to tourists. "It's alright," Nina starts as she lifts the scarf from Stan's grasp. "I quite like it. Would you let me take it home, Stanley?"

 _Lovely little girl, my arse,_ Louis thinks with a glare at her. He wonders if her hair will shrivel up like a Barbie's if he were to light the ends of it. "You brought me here on purpose, didn't you?" he growls at Nick who seems to only have the desire to innocently look on at his helpless predicament. 

"I'm not that malicious, darling," Nick smiles down at him.

Louis highly doubts that entire statement.

"Just give him what he ordered," a voice calls from somewhere on the other side of the counter by the Espresso machines. It's lower and reminds him a little bit of Niall. 

Stan's and Nina's heads turn to glance down to where the voice came from as a ginger haired lad stands from behind the machines. He's wearing a baggy black hoodie and seems content with not doing much of anything. "Ed, come on," Stan whines as the lad fetches a Blueberry muffin.

"Nina, scarf," Ed calls out as the little blonde begins to slink back to her makeshift stage. 

"I was going to give it back," Nina pouts as she wraps the scarf around Louis' neck, pulling it a little too tight before she walks away.

Confusion flits over Louis' face, "But, I don't have..."

"We _do_ take debit cards, checks, and credit cards from all the major names and banks," Ed interrupts as Stan scurries off to make Louis' drink. His hair is a little less fluffy on one side from where, Louis imagines, he was probably taking a nap against the wooden cabinets. 

As he fishes out his Debit card, Louis tries not to murder everyone in the immediate vicinity, "Right." 

"Double shot of Espresso and an Apple Fritter," Nick orders after Louis receives his drink and resigns to eating his muffin at a small table away from the likes of any of the employees.

When Nick sits in a white chair across from Louis, he's taking generous sips from a small white cup and nibbling on a crumbly pastry. "I need you to actually get at least two good photos tonight," he mumbles around a mouthful of apple and cinamon. 

"Please, enlighten me as to why I should do anything for you," Louis takes a bite out of his muffin that is probably a little too predatory for the soft baked good. 

"Prepare to be enlightened then," Nick begins. "Reason number one, I have the right to ship you back to Manchester whenever I please if I deem you a nuisance to my project. Reason number two, I could make you sleep outside if I really wanted. Oh, and the last reason, the one that I think you will mind the most, I am your link to Danny Renaldi."

Pinching at the bridge of his nose, Louis tries to even out the irritation threatening to burn beneath his skin, " _Reynolds._ It's Reynolds, you idiot."

"Good, you'll get the photos then. Thanks," Nick grins at him before finishing off his Espresso. 

So, Louis does. Louis snaps a few photographs with his phone from where he's suffocating against the metal gate. As soon as he deems that he has plenty to stave off Nick's annoyance for the night, Louis pockets his phone and waves the small server with a tray of test tube shots over to him. "I'll take six," he tells her over the drum of  _Demons._

She eyes him warily, her brown hair cascading over her shoulders with flickering tints of blue and green light, "You've only got two hands, you know."

"Eleanor," Louis deadpans with a glance at the nametag that seems to barely hang onto the skimpy lace of her dress. "Then, stand there until I've got all six down," he tries to identify the point in time when people were allowed to question his drinking methods.  _Liam,_ he thinks after a moment.  _You are the reason for this trend in societal behavior._

With a roll of her hazel eyes that reminds him way too much of a certain bastard, she hands over two plastic green and pink test tubes filled to the brim with a sticky liquid, "This will be €67."

The tubes are empty within seconds and settling in Louis' stomach like a wild fire of Lime and Rell Bull and,  _oh,_ Vodka. "I'll pay you in kisses, you wonderful, lovely girl," he tells her as she hands over two more.

"I don't accept  _favors_ ," Eleanor levels Louis with a bored look that tells him, he isn't offering her a suggestion she hasn't heard before. 

With a nod of his head and another two shots down, Louis dizily smiles at her, "Good, good. You're really too pretty for something as low at that." The words seem to escape his lips with less of his sarcasm than he intended, the letters falling off his tongue softly amidst the bass and guitar riffs. 

Her hardened expression softens just a little before she averts her stare and hands him his last two drinks. Now, Louis could be mistaken but he spies a little rose tint to her cheeks as she bows her head.

"Thanks, Eleanor," Louis smiles gingerly at her as he tips back the two drinks and welcomes the quickened pulse of the alcohol pouring into his veins. "I'll see you at the end of the next song for another few," he hands back the empty things and begins digging around in his pockets for the bit of cash Nick had spotted him prior to the concert to 'shut him up'. 

The waves of her hair sway as she shakes her head and waves her hand dismissively, "First few are on me." Eleanor smiles softly at him before walking off, her serving tray of empty drinks resting on her up turned palm as she disappears around the corner of the pit area toward the bar. 

Louis tries to beckon her back, he really does, but she doesn't appear again before the alcohol curls his thoughts in the direction of lights, drums, guitars and the warmth of the bodies pressed against him. He revels in the energy, the screams and quiet voices of those who are singing along. He cringes at all the right times, when a girl to his left shrieks out the wrong lyrics of a completely different song because she's slurred her way into one too many drinks and when the couple behind him gets so into each other's mouths that they end up spilling their beers on his sweater. He doesn't mind the sticky feeling that seeps through to his skin and he even offers the couple a smile when they draw out a few profuse apologies. Idly, he thinks this is where he belongs, sandwiched between so many people with his favorite band on the stage. If he could change one thing, he would have Niall, Zayn, and Liam pressed into his personal space, sharing their warmth and energy with him. 

"We're going to take a small break for a photo. If you all don't mind," Dan grins into his microphone. There's a light gleam of sweat on his forehead as he rubs a hand over his warm cheeks. "Could everyone bunch up together for this photo? Just everyone squeeze in a bit tighter, this one's for me to keep!" 

The crowd, much like Louis, seems unable to disagree with the American lad cheerily instructing them from the stage. Everyone huddles in tighter, breaths mingling and heat escalating. 

A sharp pain runs through Louis ribs as the flash brightens the dim venue. He can feel the chain that's holding the gate together digging into his ribs and lung. His vision blurs for a moment as a light headed nausea runs through his system, everything too warm and too close for the moment. He takes one last up close look at Dan before pushing his way out of the pit.  _Air is great,_ Louis breathes deeply as the pain thuds dully in his skin. 

"Alright?" Eleanor's voice reaches him from where he's got his hands braced on his knees and his head bent. 

Lifting his stare to meet her's, Louis lets out another full breath, "Got rammed against the gate pretty good for the photo op."

She laughs a little tinkly sound before waving him over to the bar counter where she sets down her tray and pulls out a clean glass. "Take a seat, love," Eleanor advises him as she fills the glass with a few frozen crescents and a clear liquid that doesn't smell strong enough to be of the Vodka or Rum variety. 

"I think they ruptured my lung," Louis tells her as he sits on one of the round stools. 

"You would be on the floor," Eleanor sets the glass down in front of him and leans on the bar counter with her elbows. In the clearer lighting of the bar, Louis can follow the bow of her lips and the glint of mischief that she hides in the bats of her eyelashes. 

So, he takes a long sip of what he identifies to be water, _ick._ "How do you know?" Louis surveys her with a narrowing of his eyes.

"I'm a part-time General Surgeon," Eleanor deadpans with a tilt of her head and an even look. He's clearly not sober enough for her dry sarcasm because she chuckles in his face. "You believed me? Love, I'm in medical school. This," she says as she motions toward the bar behind her. "is how I afford said school."

Louis nods his head, his fringe flopping against his eyebrows and nearly poking him in the eye. "Couldn't have found something that pays better?" he curiously looks up at her.

"You would be surprised," she begins with a small shrug. "People tip highly to treat you like shit."

 _People tip highly to treat you like shit_ , the words fumble over in Louis head until all he hears is  _treat you like shit, like shit, shit._ "Why do that to yourself?" Louis asks after a moment and another sip of water. The liquid settles uneasily in his stomach, the alcohols recognizing that it isn't one of their kind. 

There's a look of contemplation that flits over Eleanor's face, "You take what you think you can handle, to get what you want to deserve." Her lips curve down as she bows her head for a moment and focuses a little too hard on the glass she's cleaning with dainty fingers. 

"Even if you deserve better than what you're handling?" Louis rests his chin in his palms as he watches her. The pain in his ribs is starting to subside while he drums his fingertips on his jaw. 

She's silent for a long while, her eyelashes casting shadows over her skin as her hands have stalled in their cleaning. "It is what it is, you know?" Eleanor softly replies, her voice almost drowned out by the music behind him. 

 _It is what it is,_ he holds onto those words and pockets them in his memory alongside the image of a gentle girl who takes what she can handle to get what she wants to deserve. "Yeah," Louis agrees.

From there, Eleanor doesn't say much, just offers him a sad smile and a mug of Bailey's Irish Cream before continuing on with a few other guests that have appeared at the bar. Sometimes she'll lean a bit _too far_ , the top of her dress dipping a little _too low_ as she talks to a customer, their eyes _too downcast_ for her beautiful face. 

Louis bites back a sigh and drinks down a cup of Irish that Niall would normally pour over a bowl of Vanilla Bean ice cream. He listens to the band finishing off their set list as the alcohol thrumming through his system begins to make him drowsy. 

"Last call," Eleanor loudly tells the few people sitting in the vicinity of the bar. 

With a wave, Louis beckons her out of the reach of a few grabby hands. "How much do I owe you?" he asks as his eyes drift shut before he struggles to open them again. 

A soft smile bends the bow of Eleanor's lips as she reaches out to gently brush the tips of her fingers over Louis' knuckles. "You don't owe me anything," she quietly speaks, her words curling around him like comforting embraces. "Just give me a call some time," she places a napkin in his palm and leans over the bar counter to press a kiss into the curve of his cheek bone. 

He wonders as she walks away, if she realizes Louis hasn't even mentioned his name, or if she even cares. "Bye, love," he murmurs with a glance at the number scrawled in careful writing across the beverage napkin. 

"Ready to head out?" Nick enquires through Louis' haze as he stands near the bar stool beside Louis' own. He rests his camera on the bar top and tilts Louis' mug, a look of diappointment flitting over his face when he sees it's empty. 

"Yeah," Louis sighs as he tucks the napkin into his pocket and pushes himself from his seat. He huddles close behind Nick as they leave the venue and curl into the chilled interior of the rental car. He pulls the napkin out and adds Eleanor's number to his phone. 

Rain pitters against the windshield as Nick lets out a yawn that he attempts to stifle with the back of his hand. "This is the only time that I'm ever going to ask this of you, Tomlinson," Nick begins before pulling the compact vehicle out of the carpark. "I need you to talk to me while I drive. Keep me awake," he rubs at his eyes when they pull to a stop at a traffic light. 

"What do you want me to talk about?" Louis asks tiredly from where he's considering building a temporary nest for himself. 

The radio plays a song that Zayn hummed frequently when they first moved in together, when they were still struggling to pick up their peices and put each other back together. " _Please sing to me, I can see you open up to breathe... Fast words make it easier on me, if the point is to never disappoint you, somebodies got to tell me what to do,"_ it's  _Perfect_ by Mariana's Trench if Louis remembers properly. " _Just wish you could've seen me when it used to come so easy. I like to say it's easy to stay, but it's not for me because I'm barely here at all,"_  Louis curls further into his scarf.

Making a scoffing sound, Nick shrugs his shoulders, "I don't know. Just talk about you or something. Tell me about how you ended up in Manchester."

"How I ended up in Manchester," Louis repeats with a soft sigh. "I'll start a bit before that then, for confusion's sake. I was fourteen and had... decided to run away from home. Boyish dreams about never growing up and not wanting responsibility, you know," he starts. The beginnings of a lie spinning before him, a much more pleasant story than that of the truth. 

Nick offers him a hum of forced interest as he steers the car through the  _Roane_ roundabout toward theA6. 

"After a week of realizing most people wouldn't hire a fourteen year old and I had no where to live in the middle of December, I started kipping at my mate Zayn's in Bradford. It worked out for awhile, his mum took me in while Zayn's dad was working in the States for a few months. I took care of the garden and mowing the yard, things like that, while his mum would slip me some money for the work. By the end of March, Zayn's dad came back and things took a turn down hill. Zayn and I had gotten really close..." Louis hesitates for a moment, debating on the extent of what he should tell Nick. He drums his fingers on his legs for a few moments. "We... Well, we were just confused and we had each other," he glances up from his scarf to check Nick's expression. 

In the space of silence, Nick glances at him probably more to see if he had fallen asleep rather than to continue the one sided conversation but he eventually asks for clarification, "Experimenting?"

"Yeah," Louis affirms quietly, bowing his chin back into the safe confines of his scarf. "His dad came in to Zayn's room to tell him he was finally back home, that he missed his son, and there we were. I think we were kissing or something, but his dad lost it, nearly killed Zayn before he tossed us out. I was barely fifteen then and Zayn had just turned fourteen. From there, we took a train from Bradford to Manchester," he finishes quietly trying not to think too hard about how he practically tore Zayn's life out from underneath him.

 _I_ _f it weren't with you, he would have caught me with someone else,_ he remembers Zayn telling him one night.  _I'm glad it was you, though. At least I know where you've been and that you're clean._  

It was another seven months before they managed to aquire their crumbly little flat that Louis really misses at the moment. Louis worked from early morning until way passed dark cleaning dishes in a small diner where the owner paid him off handedly because he was too young for the record books and Zayn washed car windows for tips at stoplights. 

"Still together then?" Nick enquires as he takes the A36 exit leaving them nearly two hundred miles to  _Strasbourg_. 

Louis smiles briefly, a little chuckle tumbling from his lips, "No, we're just flatmates still. He's got a thing for Niall, actually."

"Oh, that's _the_  Zayn. So, Niall's got you to thank for the small chance he has with him," Nick grins over at him.

Their laughter warms the car and Louis relaxes into his seat, the thoughts of the past falling back into the graves of his memory for the moment, "Nah, Zayn kissed me first."

**_"I'm the colorless sunrise that's never good enough. I'm the wind that's in your hair that ruffles you up." Every Night by Imagine Dragons_ **

_Harry Styles_  
Currently in Strasbourg, France  
October 31st, 2011

His curls are still damp from his _3:00_ in the morning shower as he finds his way into the  _Lyon Perrache_ train station. Honestly, Harry isn't sure why he decided against taking a shower before he climbed into bed at a relatively decent hour instead of the hellish morning times. He checks the clock on his phone as he surveys the day's timetable just above the ticket counter, _5:30._ A soft huff of breath escapes his lips as he rubs a hand over his eyes in an attempt to dismiss the sleepiness that still lingers there. "One adult for the _5:46_ direct rail to Strasbourg, please," he requests softly over the hum of railcars further into the station.

"That will be €23, sir," the elderly woman behind the counter offers him a gentle smile that creases her cheeks and narrows her early morning eyes. "Have a pleasant day," she tells him with a sincerety that Harry is sure she probably shows everyone as he exchanges a few bills for a paper ticket. 

Rolling his suitcase behind him, Harry finds his way to the proper train and boards somewhere near the middle of it where a railway facilitator beckons to him. 

"Last bit of seating left," the man grins at him with an extended hand in the direction of the car. 

Harry nods his head in thanks before climbing the small expanse of steps. He surveys the nearly full car before deciding on taking ownership of a ruby cushioned window seat beside a girl with straight blonde hair who seems far more interested in her phone than in the world around her. Stashing his suitcase in the space between his legs and the seat in front of him, Harry settles back into the fabric of his seat. 

"Could've been saving that," the girl says after a small delay. Her stare never lifts from the screen of her mobile as she types out a message with thin fingers. 

"Are you? I could move," Harry offers quickly, stuttering to his feet and attempting to bypass her knees for a second time. 

The curve of her bottom lip rounds as she looks up at him and raises her eyebrows, "No, just could've asked first."

A flush spreads along his neck and warms his cheeks as he quickly sits back down, "My apologies, really. I'm sorry, I was rude." He fumbles shyly as he finds a grin quirking the corners of her mouth.

"You're posh," she acknowledges as she sets her phone on her jean clad lap and adjusts the green fabric of her Infinity scarf. Her blue eyes gleam at him curiously with a little amusement. Everything about her is dainty and sharp edged, her cheeks, the length of her figure, the tapering of her eyebrows and the purse of her lips. A double edged sword of a teenage girl, sweet and coniving. "Have I got something on my face?" she asks after a moment, her left eyebrow lifting a bit above the right.

He shakes his head, "Oh, no."

"You're not a creep, are you?" she continues, eyeing him with a bemused expression. 

Harry's not good at this. "You remind me a bit of my sister," he says.

She blinks at him a few times before glancing about the rest of the cable car as if to check for another open seat to move away from him, "You've got a thing for your  _sister._ "

"Oh, God, no! I just meant you sort of look like her... and I..." Harry stops himself with a frustrated sigh. This is why he doesn't and probably shouldn't ever talk to anyone. He tries to sort through a few sentences and to try and get a grasp on any bit of dignity that he might be able to muster on this earlier, god awful, morning. "I'm Harry," he offers his hand to her after a moment and squeezes his eyes shut out of irritation with himself. 

Surprisingly enough, she slips her hand into his and gently squeezes it, "Cara. You're strange, you know that?"

Yes, yes he does. "Nice to meet you," he says instead, letting their hands drop in between them.

A few of his curls flop over into his face as she smiles at him, "Going to see a girlfriend in Strasbourgh or something?" Now, she's just being generous because that assumption was really too kind. 

"Ah, no," he laughs nervously, averting his stare to the folds of his jumpers hemline. He fiddles with the light green fabric and tries not to think too hard about the fact that he's, again, pointing out his affinity for finding himself on the thought of  _alone._ "What about you? Boyfriend?"

"No, girlfriend actually," Cara clarifies with a dismissive wave of her left hand. "But, I'm going for a photoshoot. Trying to get a portfolio put together to send to potential employers. That sort of thing," she continues on as the train finally begins to pull out of the station. Tucking a stray tuft of hair behind her ear, she takes a small glance out the window as the station disappears and hues of dawn begin to filter lightly into the dark car.

 _Model,_ Harry registers as he reads through her words. "Exciting," he offers with a small tilt of his head. The idea sounds a bit thrilling, having people wanting to take photographs of her and picking her specifically to model their clothing or accessories. He doesn't miss the slight downward curve of her lips before she pulls on another smile though. He believes he might understand though. There's probably a certain amount of pressure that comes with a profession like that, demands and expectations of unrealistic levels.  _Thin and porcelain,_ he thinks softly as he takes in her appearance again.

"It is," Cara grins at him before tilting his chin up with the tip of an index finger. "You could probably do it, if you wanted," she observes, turning his head in random directions for different views of his face.

Sputtering out an embarrassed squeak, Harry shakes his head, "Oh, no. I couldn't. I'm not..."

"Not what? You say no alot. You've got nice eyes and your features are even, angled..." Cara runs her finger down the bridge of his nose. "Pretty sure I even spotted a dimple or two. The camera would love you," she presses before she returns to her phone to check for a new message. 

So, Harry glances at his reflection in the screen of his phone before pinching at the bit of roundness that is still clinging to his cheeks in the lateness of his teenage years. He could probably go for a bit of a run when he gets to  _Strasbourg._ Clear his head for a while to ready himself for the third concert,  _yeah,_ he could go for that. 

"Look too long and you'll hate what you see," Cara interrupts his thoughts, and, God, how long was she watching him pinch at his face for?

 _A bit late for not hating myself, love,_ Harry smiles back at her anyway though because as far as being strangers on a train, this is all  _nice._ "Just thinking I could go for a bit of a run," he explains. "Haven't been living the healthiest in the past few months. Should probably work on that before my holiday turns into a stroll down high cholesterol lane."

She laughs at that, moving her arms and waddling in her seat in demonstration of his impending stroll. "That would be cute," Cara points out, chuckling a bit more. 

They settle into easy conversation about light things as the train rattles along the rails for another four and a half hours. When they finally pull into  _Strasbourg Gare Centrale,_ it's almost  _10:20_ and Cara gives him a tight squeeze as well as a rough pat on the back when they have to go their separate ways on the platform.

It's not until he's sliding into the back of a taxi that he finds she snuck her phone number into his pocket. He smiles at the sliver of paper as he catches one last sight of her retreating back disappearing down the taxi line. He adds the digits into his phone and lets out a small sigh. The chance of him ever contacting her is small, not because he didn't like her company and coversation, but because he's running out of time, the sand in his hour glass dwindling to his final days. He doesn't want to have a reason to stay or the grinning face of a porcelain girl making him hesitate with the bottle to his lips. " _Maison Rouge,_ s'il vous plait," Harry informs the driver as he tugs the seatbelt over his chest.

Quietly, he watches as the buildings pass by in brightly painted colors with the sun just beginning to overcome the sky. The town is well settled and it looks to be that the Christmas markets are starting to set up shop for the oncoming season, fairy lights lining the windows and decorations making the area more lively. It seems more friendly than _Lyon_ was the previous day where rain drowned out most of the cities natural warmth.  He plays lightly with the blue ribbon around his wrist as he has come to do without much realization in the past few days, the fabric silky beneath his nervous fingers. 

 _T_ _wenty-seven,_ Harry breathes out a puff of winter fogged air as he removes himself from the cab and meanders inside a carefully structured stone building with  _Maison Rouge_ painted in white across a few square cuts of timber.

A young woman in a tea length dress checks him in before handing him a card key and ushering him toward a lift. He rides to the second floor before wheeling his luggage along behind him to a room, number  _209._ The room is more quaint than the two he stayed in, in the previous nights and it makes him feel a little bit cozier. There's a large window with a small cushioned seat at the base of it and a full sized bed with a warm green duvet folded gently over the mattress. All of it feels pleasant and welcoming, a part of him wants to curl up in the bed and take the nap he was planning to take on the train, but he can't. He's realized he needs to show up earlier if he wants to ever actually catch a decent glimpse of the band.

So, Harry changes into his black _Imagine Dragons_ t-shirt that he purchased on the first night in  _Paris,_ and tugs on a jean jacket that will probably just barely, really not at all, keep him warm in the cold weather. He checks to make sure he has the right concert ticket stashed in his pocket before ruffling his curls and making his way back down to the hotel lobby where he asks the desk clerk to call him a cab so he doesn't have to stand in the winter air any longer than he has to.

The cabby drops him off beside a barely formed line in front of the _Laterie_ concert venue. It appears to be slightly smaller than the last two venues and Harry idly wonders if that's the reason for the lacking early attendance. Meandering in line ahead of him is a group of about seven people. There's two girls in long skirts and crop tops that make Harry want to build them a fire at the very front of the line, then there's a father and a very bundled up set of school boys that Harry suspects are brothers, and then there is a couple in front of him. He isn't bothered at first by their presence, the couple that is. They seems sweet enough, young, but _so touchy._ By  _12:35,_ the pair is attempting to warm each other up with kisses that make Harry a little uncomfortable. They only settle for cuddling into each other's coats around _14:57_ when the father ahead of them hisses about there being children around and the line has begun to stretch out behind Harry. 

The tips of his fingers and even his toes within the confines of his worn brown leather shoes are beginning to feel completely numb. Harry rubs his hands together and blows the bit of heat that he's managed to retain over them, he's highly considering investing in a pair of knit gloves. He'll have to look into a pair somewhere between here and _Amsterdam_. 

Screams erupt from the line as the band's tour bus passes them by with Dan Reynolds leaning out the passenger window and waving his arms about at them. "À bientȏt!" he shouts to them, his American accent blending with light flaws around  _goodbye for now!_

A few taxi's drop off VIP guests at the entrance to the venue around _18:30_ and the security personel start letting the rest of them in thirty minutes later. The indoor heating burns Harry's skin at first, the warmth attempting to thaw away the frostbite that threatened to encase his hands and feet. He follows the seven who rush ahead of him and settles into a spot between a girl with three sprays too many of perfume and a boy who seems intent on arguing with someone on the opposite side of the metal gate. Harry attempts to take one breath of easy air before the rest of the line can press in behind him as his hands rest on the chilled black metal separating them from the stage.

"Christ, Nick! I don't need you to keep handing me money. I've got some of my own you know," the boy beside him growls out to the taller guy on the opposite side.

The voice is strangely familiar but it seems too unlikely that the same person from the  _Paris_ concert would be at this concert too. So, Harry doesn't look, doesn't tempt himself into seeing if the voice does reflect in sharp edges and soft features on the boy's face. 

"Fine," 'Nick' scowls down at the boy before the lights drop down and he disappears from in front of them muttering a ' _just an offer, prat,'_  as he goes.

"Tonight, we would like to welcome a special guest band to open for us," Ben Mckee's voice floats through the venue. "They're in town on a few free days for their tour and agreed to pop in for a bit."

From what Harry can see through the darkness, it appears that there is a band slowly filtering onto the stage as Ben speaks. 

The stage lights flicker on with a young man near the front of the stage. "Boujour," he says into the microphone with a grin, the light catching the blue of his hair. The crowd seems to recognize the band, letting out screams and a few misplaced claps while Harry merely looks on curiously. "We're Marianas Trench."

It's half way through the first song when the singer is passing through the lines, " _Slow down now, the secrets out. And, I swear now I'll still make this perfect. What you want, what you need has been killing me. Try to be everything that you want me to be. I'll say yes, I'll undress. I'll do more for less. Now I'll change everything till it's perfect again,"_  that the boy with the all too familiar voice latches onto Harry's arm.  _  
_

"Zayn would kill for this," he tells Harry just above the bass and the yell of the crowd.

Harry doesn't have any idea who that is or if he should be legitimately concerned about the circulation in his arm that's being cut off currently but he nods fiercely and barely manages a, "Y...Yeah."

The boy lets go after that and motions for the drink server to bring him a beer, his attention long lost from Harry, if it was ever on him to begin with. 

Three songs and four beers later for the boy, Harry hasn't been counting  _really,_ the guest band bids the crowd goodbye. "Thanks for having us," the singer bows to the audience, his hair flopping over his face as he does so. "Maybe we will see you all again soon!" 

"Danny Reynaldi -- fucking hell, prat's got me mixed up..." the boy slurs as he tosses an empty bottle to the girl doing pit service before she presses a new one into his hand with a grimace. 

A chuckle escapes Harry's lips because it just sounds so angry and childish, bringing his attention over to the boy. He startles to find that the boy is now narrowing a pair of deep blue eyes in his direction. With a nervous look, Harry tries to take him in, the sharp edges that he imagined and the soft curl of his eyelashes which, much like his lips, betray his seemingly desperate desire to hold a look of indignation and irritation. "Sorry, I didn't..." Harry stutters as the stage crew changes out a few instruments only a few meters from them. 

"Beer?" the boy interrupts, a curved eyebrow raising beneath his fringe a little. 

"Oh, I'm not... I don't..." Harry starts but the boy interrupts him again by pressing the new _Coors Light_ into Harry's palm. "Cheers..." he murmurs on as the boy retrieves another beer. 

The boy gives him a sideways glance before nodding his head and soon enough, the head lining band takes the stage. " _When the days are cold, and the cards all fold, and the saints we see are all made of gold... When your dreams all fail and the ones we all hail are the worst of all and the blood's run stale..."_ Dan sings from the stage, his hips swaying in time with the beginning beat. " _I wanna hide the truth... I wanna shelter you but with the beast inside, there's no where we can hide..."_

Harry sips gingerly at his beer and tries not to scowl at the bland taste of it. He wonders absently if the alcohol he brought with him would taste as bitter and dry as he lets Dan's voice creep into his veins; cause the beat of his heart to stutter a little. Then, he thinks that maybe death isn't supposed to be a pleasant experience and that the alcohol he stole from his step father's cabinet shouldn't be sweet and easy. 

With a sharp pitched whistle, the lad orders something that sounds a little stronger: a  _double shot of vodka with a splash of ginger beer and lemon, please._

"Moscow Mule?" the girl enquires.

"Sure, whatever," he shouts back to her before handing off what Harry thinks is the lad's fifth beer. 

The server returns a few moments later with a pint glass filled with amber liquid and a lemon.

"Thanks, love," the boy leans over the barrier to press a smacking kiss to her cheek before she swats him away. He tosses the drink passed his lips and closes his eyes for a beat. 

Without having to worry about the boy spotting his prying eyes, Harry watches him, following the gentle glow of his skin and the angle of his jaw to the column of his throat when he swallows. He feels his breathing fall in line with the smaller lad's, his chest rising and falling in unbidden synchronization. It takes him a small expanse of breaths to realize that the boy is leaning into his side, folding his frame into Harry's larger one. 

"You alright?" Harry shouts over the music as he leans a bit further into him. He watches as the lad's eyelashes flutter against a dusting of dainty freckles in the shadow of blue and white lights. Harry thinks he might be falling asleep in the dip of Harry's ribs. "Hey..." he jostles the lad once more but finds that his own fingers are being laced with smaller ones.

"Just need someone to hold me up for a moment," the words are soft and Harry barely hears them over the music --" _Your eyes they shine so bright, I wanna save that light..."--._

He stills though, with his hand entwined with a stranger's and a warm body pressed into the thin fabric of his shirt. It's unnerving and pleasant, unlike the shove of the pit crowd behind them. Someone Harry doesn't know _needs_ him, if only just for the moment. He tries not to focus too hard on the tight grip of slender fingers against his own or about the lovely face they belong to. So, he just closes his eyes and tries to breathe, finding the gentle smell of spice and lemon just above the stench of alcohol and sweat.

" _I can't escape this now, unless you show me how,"_ Dan rings clearly through the crowd.

The bass racks against Harry's lungs and he wonders if the boy can feel it too. 

"Think you... You could take me to my hotel..." the lad slurs out against Harry's collarbone, his breaths cool and soft.

It might be more of a statement than a request and Harry should refuse, but the weight against his side is beginning to increase. He wraps his arm hesitantly around the lad's slim waist to keep him from being shoved against the metal gate as the crowd presses forward again."If... If you need someone to... I just, I can..." Harry stutters out.

"You're voice is so deep..." he says after a long moment before Harry leads him through the pit crowd toward the exit. 

"If you're planning to shag him, I would rethink that decision," the voice from earlier in the night, the one that was arguing with the warmth against his side, calls to Harry just as they reach the door.

Harry stops mid step and glances nervously over his shoulder, catching the threatening edge to his tone, "Oh, no... I..."

"You what," the lad looms a little over Harry, his hazel eyes leaning more toward curious than glaring.

"I asked this kind tree to take me to my bed," the tiny boy curling further into Harry reaches out for the lapel of the other lad's blazer. "Just... I'm ready to go, Nick..."

Nick huffs out a sigh before adjusting he strap of his camera and eyeing Harry, "Let's go then, Louis."

"Good lad," Louis' eyes never open and he doesn't let go of Harry. 

So, when Nick leads Louis out of the venue, well, Harry goes too. He climbs into a cab with Louis clinging to his coat and Nick watching him intently from his seat beside the cab driver. He's surprised when Nick doesn't make him stay in the cab but instead invites him up to the room as Louis snuffles tiredly against Harry's shoulder. 

"What's your name then?" Nick asks when he pries one of the hotel rooms open and lets them inside. There are two full sized beds laden with cream colored sheets and gold blankets. 

It takes a small moment for Louis to crack his blue eyes open and slip away from Harry. He curls up in the bed closest to a small, drapery covered window. "The light..." he murmurs with a wave of his hand at the overhead lamps before he pulls one of the blankets up to his chin. He shuts his eyes for a moment before opening one and beckoning to Harry. "Warmth..." he says, his voice just barely muffled by the sheets.

"My name's Harry..." there's a few seconds where he merely glances nervously between Nick and where Louis has a hand reached out for him. _Why not?_ his thoughts whisper to him. He takes a few hesitant steps toward the bed before slipping his legs beneath the top blanket, his back braced against the headboard.

Louis settles in against Harry's thigh, his eyes slipping closed as his fingers curl near a spot just above Harry's knee. His breaths come out as soft wisps that seep through Harry's jeans and burn his skin.

"Glass?" Nick interrupts Harry's thoughts with a raise of a green tinted bottle that has _La Vieille Ferme Rouge_ printed in thin letters on its label. It appears to be a red wine.

"Ah, no thank you..." Harry mumbles but Nick pours an extra cup and presses it into his hand anyway. So, Harry takes it and sips tentatively at the thick liquid. Idly, he wonders when he decided to accept drinks from strangers and why he didn't start earlier.

With a glass of his own, Nick takes a seat across from Harry on the empty bed. "It seems that we keep running into you, _Harry,_ " he takes a long pull from his glass. It sounds a whole lot like an accusation and the studying look on Nick's face only drives home the thought.

"I'm following the band," Harry clarifies softly. "I'm sorry for bothering... I just..." he risks a small glance down at Louis' face and tightens his grip on his cup. He needs to leave, really that would be the best option in this situation,  _run._

"He's a bit clingy and he's been terrible company these passed few nights," Nick laughs, shaking Harry from his escape plan. "We're following the band too. Mind if I ask you a few questions about it actually? I'm interning with a radio station and this whole tour is sort of my project. An interview would help me out alot and well, if you don't, I'll kick you out," he finishes on a grin.

Honestly, Harry should take the offer and catch a cab back to his own hotel. "Ah, sure..." he finds the agreement dripping from his tongue as he takes another light sip of bitterness.

"Brilliant. Thanks," Nick reaches out to pat his knee before setting up the voice recorder on his phone. "We'll start just with you introducing yourself, your name, age, where your from and the like. Alright, when you're ready go ahead," he taps the small microphone on the device's screen and looks to Harry with an expectant quirk of his lips.

He inhales deeply as Louis' fingers stake a claim on the fabric of his jeans. "I'm Harry Styles. I'm seventeen and I'm from the small town of St. Davids in Wales..." Harry begins.

A half hour later, Harry's eyes are drooping and Nick is flipping off the light. Harry slides down into the bed and is almost too tired to notice how his heart thuds loudly in his ears when Louis moves further into his chest. He knows he should feel terrified, settling into a stranger's bed but he doesn't feel the nervous tremors beneath his skin.  _Acceptance,_ he reminds himself.  _I'll take whatever happens,_ he allows as Louis head rests against his heart and sleep drags him under into a temporary black.

 

**_"I'm searching to find myself but all I find is you. I can hardly stand myself, so what am I to you?" Every Night by Imagine Dragons_ **

 


	5. Amsterdam pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: I don't think there are any for this chapter.
> 
> Follow me here: thatkaitykid.tumblr.com

_Louis Tomlinson_  
 _Currently in Strasbourg, France  
_ _November 1st, 2011_

It's four hours too early when Louis dares to crack his eyes open. The light that beams through the hotel curtains paints smudges across his already sleep bleary vision as he shoves himself up from the bed.  _Need to wee,_ he thinks as he stumbles around the scattering of belongings that litter the carpet on his way to the bathroom,  _just need to wee for christ's sake. Shouldn't have to be a bloody excursion._

After fumbling with his hand pressed to the wallpaper in an attempt to find the light switch for a few moments, Louis resigns to relieving himself in the dark. He absently shuts the toilet lid and flushes with the full intent of letting the sounds wake up his hotel mate before washing his hands. Swallowing thickly as he dries his fingers, he tries to ignore the irritated scratch that the previous nights intoxication has left behind as evidence of its presence.  _Water,_ Louis tells himself as he moves to the mini fridge that Nick had been so excited to discover upon checking into the room. 

The small, black fridge door is cold in his grasp and numbs his fingers at the touch. There's a nearly empty bottle of wine resting on its belly on one of the small, railed shelves when Louis finally clears his vision enough to begin looking for a beverage and he's beginning to wonder if he's really stooped to the point of drinking in his sleep. He's almost positive that he didn't open the bottle himself though because surely in his state of stupidity, the majority of the wine would have ended up on himself but there aren't any raspberry colored stains on his shirt or trousers. When he turns to question Nick though, he realizes the tufts of brown hair poking out from beneath the duvet of his own bed are distinctly curlier than the usual flops of Nick's hair and it appears that the bastard himself is sleeping in the other bed.  _Oh,_ Louis has a problem.  _  
_

Abandoning the fridge with the almost empty wine bottle in one hand, Louis tumbles over his own feet as he shakes Nick's shoulders roughly. He can see that the victim of his relentlessness begins to stir but he doesn't stop jostling him until Nick swings out a hand to swat at his face.

"Christ, Tomlinson.  _What?_ " Nick groans at him with sleep ridden eyes and a wrinkling of his nose. 

"For fuck's sake, Nick! Who is that!" Louis shouts at his face, the words are almost frantic but mostly angry as he hisses them out. He points a short index finger in the direction of the sleeping boy with a literal  _nest_  of brown curls. 

With a small glance in the direction of Louis' pointing, Nick whispers gingerly, "Shh, Tomlinson, shut it. You'll wake him up."

The wine bottle clanks against the small bedside table before Louis grits out, "Wake him up? Why was he asleep in bed  _with_  me!"

"Because you brought him here," Nick replies like it's the simplest thing and _really_ , Louis should have figured it out on his own. "You weren't that pissed, were you?" he laughs after a small expanse of silence. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Louis sees the stranger begin rubbing a hand over his eyes. The exposed arm is long and pale against the sheets as he shifts over to take in the pair with, what appears to be, two sleepy, green eyes hooded with dark lashes. Louis can feel his hands winding into fists at his sides and around the neck of the bottle as the boy pushes himself up clumsily on his forearms to look at the small digital clock. 

"I... I've missed my train... Shit! I've..." the boy scrambles up from the bed, his limbs trying to escape the tanglings of the sheets as he searches around for his belongings.

"What's he on about?" Louis rests his hand and the bottle on his hips, his tone quirking just a little around the sleep roughened edges as he grimaces at the boy.

Nick props his head up on one of his hands, "Harry, darling, what are you doing?"

_Harry?_

"My -- My train to Paris, I've missed it and because I've missed that, that means I've missed the train to Amsterdam," the boy,  _Harry_ , rambles on in panic slurred stutters. He's in the process of flipping the sheets off the bed where he finds his cell phone before gently placing the sheets in their original places and continuing his frantic search for the rest of his belongings.

"I think he's hyperventilating, having a panic attack, etcetra..." Nick waves a hand in Harry's direction as he sits up and slings his legs out from beneath the duvet. "So, you missed your train?" he queries with a tilt of his head.

As Harry lifts his head to meet Nick's stare, Louis can see that there are a few tears beginning to well on the brims of his lashes. "There are other trains," Louis tells them, and he means for the words to come out harshly because he's still a little miffed that Nick would allow this stranger to follow them to their hotel but the tone dies on his lips when Harry's gaze flits nervously over to him. 

"I -- I know that," Harry quietly acknowledges as he runs the back of his hand over his eyes once more. 

"What were you doing in my bed, Harry?" Louis leans away from the panicked topic, curiously hoping that the segue will allow the boy to clear his head and maybe  _get it together_ or maybe  _get out._

Retrieving his leather shoes from beneath the bed skirt, Harry seats himself on the carpet to slip them on. His broad shoulders slouch tiredly as he focuses on his laces, "You told me to get in your bed because I was warm."

The boy's deep voice is hushed and the slumber plagued ridges of it stall Louis for a moment. He's most definitely heard it before, that syrupy tone and he knows he has to have heard it prior to last night because if he doesn't remember leaving the concert then he really doesn't remember talking to Harry either. It dawns on him as he glances down at the wine bottle in his grasp.  _Paris, France_ , it reads just below the brand name. Harry's the boy that Louis collided with. "Oh," is all Louis responds with after a long moment, the hard line of his shoulders relaxing a little. 

"How about I make you an offer, young Harold?" Nick cuts the silence a while later as he meanders toward the bathroom.

A frown creases Louis' lips and cinches the small space between his eyebrows when Harry's stare moves away from his own. 

Falling along the bridge of his nose, Harry's glasses slip a little. "What is it?" he questions quietly. There's a small apprehensive fiddling to his slender fingers as he reaches underneath the bedside table to grab ahold of his leather bound wallet. 

"We're driving back to Paris so we can return our rental car before taking a late flight to Amsterdam. If you would like, you could join us and then just catch the evening train from there to Amsterdam," Nick flips on the bathroom light and begins spraying some sort of dry shampoo into his hair.

There's a small silence that settles around them as Louis grimaces and Harry avoids looking at them at all costs. "You're letting a complete stranger take a four hour ride with us," Louis rubs the heels of his hands over his eyes until all he sees are fading spots of blue and red. "He could be a serial killer," he's waving his hands about now because this shouldn't even be a conversation they're having, Harry shouldn't even be a thing in Louis' presence, at least not anymore than that awkward one night of literal  _sleeping_  that he can't seem to place in his memory.

"He isn't a stranger, his name is Harry Styles and he's from Wales. Harry's headed the same place we are for the same reasons. You're being irrational," Nick waves at him dismissively with the can of  _Bumble and Bumble_. "You won't kill us, will you Harry?"

Turning his stare on Harry once more, Louis tries to take in the little bit of information. With the gentle morning light casting glows across the boy's skin, Louis thinks that Harry really is just that, a  _boy._ He's just a child, all clumsy limbs, and nervous fidgeting. "Of course not... I just -- my things are at my hotel," Harry answers after a moment with his curls falling against the rims of his glasses.

"Nick," Louis begins.

"There's a lovely  _10:00_ flight to Manchester if you would like to continue," Nick grins over at him after glancing at his phone.

He's going to bury Nick alive in a ditch somewhere well, that is if Harry doesn't do it first.  _You're missing a fantastic opportunity to better humanity,_ Louis thinks as he looks toward the boy again with the hope that maybe he'll be able to telepathically communicate the necessity of the deed. Unfortunately, Harry's green eyes only widen desperately under Louis' attention. Louis' going to have to work his mental bonding skills with potential serial killers, if only for the advancement of his own prosperity and well, natural selection or survival of the fittest, whatever would end with Nick's diminishing existence. 

"We'll just check his stuff for anything that could potentially harm us when we load his things into the car," Nick shrugs before slipping his cell phone back into his pocket and continuing to fiddle with his hair.

For a moment, Harry stiffens and Louis would damn himself if he didn't catch the tenseness of the younger boy's shoulders, maybe a little panic in his expression, at the mention of  _harm._ If that isn't hysterically concerning well, Louis doesn't know what is. However, it would simply be Harry against the two of them, so, he shouldn't be that concerned. Unless Nick is decidedly better at informing Harry of which of them should die first. 

"I'm at the  _Maison Rouge,_ " Harry murmurs after a moment. "I could go and get my bags, then you all wouldn't have to go out of your way just for me..." he's focusing heavily on his fingernails as he speaks. 

"That's fine, princess over there is smelling rank anyway," Nick grins as his hands settle on his hips. "Should probably shower,  _Lou-Lou."_

A grimace deepens the frown on Louis' lips as Harry takes the chance to escape the room as quickly as his legs will allow him too, the door clicking loudly behind him. "You're going to get us killed," Louis hisses as he slips into the bathroom, deposits the wine bottle on the counter, and undresses behind the safety of the shower curtain. 

"Don't be so dramatic. He's a child. What harm could he really do?" Nick scoffs, his shadow reflecting on the curtain as he moves toward the exit.

"There was a murderer that was only eleven," Louis informs him dryly as he deposits his clothes outside of the shower and turns on the spray. He shudders only a little as the cold water hits his skin, slowly beginning to wash away the previous night's grime. "He could hijack the car and know one would even know where to look because we're foreigners," he calls over the spray.

Yanking the shower curtain back, Nick tilts his head coyly before smiling a little wider, "I'll just make sure he kills you first." 

"Bastard," Louis growls as he tugs the curtain back into place and Nick exits the bathroom with a laugh. He scrubs his hair with the thoughts of how he should probably convince Niall to make better friend choices because well,  _stranger danger_  and Nick clearly has no idea what that is. He's a terrible influence on young Niall, he is. 

By the time he's rinsed the shampoo and conditioner out of his hair and shut off the water, it appears that Harry is back.

"...they don't know I'm here," is the end of Harry's sentence that Louis catches as he grabs a towel and wraps it tightly around his waist.

A laugh fills the air before Nick speaks, "You've run away! You're a runaway! I would have never suspected you to be of the sort." 

When Louis emerges from the bathroom in search of his clean, or at least hopefully clean, clothes, Nick is setting the last few items from Harry's suitcase onto the bed. It appears that Harry has changed his shirt to a new, white cable knit jumper some where between his hotel and theirs, the sleeves drape down over his long arms and just barely brush the tops of his knuckles. It's sort of lovely and endearing, swallowing his frame whole and making him look a little warm around the cheeks. A frown dips into Louis' cheeks as he brushes the thought away because  _potential murderer_ and well, he needs to focus more on getting dressed than on the proper choice of outerwear that Harry's chosen. "You ran away?" Louis asks as he closes himself into the closet to get dressed. 

"Ah, no... My housekeeper knows where I am..." Harry's voice meekly replies. 

"Housekeeper?" Nick repeats. "You're rich? These are things that you should tell us poor folk," he says sternly but there's a little edge to his tone that lets Louis know he's kidding.

 _Something you probably shouldn't tell us poor folk,_ Louis thinks as he tugs on a pair of skinny, black jeans and a baby blue sweater that's sleeves cover his hands completely so he has to push them up every now and again. He pushes the closet door open and lets himself out to the sight of Nick placing Harry's things back into his suitcase. 

There's a downward curve to Harry's lips as he stands from his spot beside Nick but he stays silent, just places his messenger bag across his chest and straightens his shoulders. 

"He's clean," Nick declares as he uses the mattress to lift himself from the floor. "You look like a wet rat," he says with a raise of his eyebrows in Louis' direction. He seems to shrug the idea off though as he moves to zip up his suitcase and grab the car keys. 

Annoyance burns beneath Louis' skin as he retrieves his own bag and moves toward the door. "Are we leaving or not?" he grimaces over his shoulder at the two. "If we leave earlier in the day, he's less likely to murder us because people will see," he continues on as he exits the room not caring whether or not the boys follow after him. His backpack is heavy on his shoulders and there's a pain radiating from some where below his diaphragm. He might need to take it easy on the alcohol for the next few nights as it seems his liver might just be staging a rebellion against him. If that's true then he's certainly going to have to find a solution to the ache that Nick constantly instills in his body.

"You know you can't actually get anywhere without me, right?" Nick hums from some where way behind Louis in the hallway. There's a louder set of feet that are trailing along with his voice that are much too out of sync to be Nick's.

To affirm this thought, Louis glances over his shoulder. Sure enough, Harry's shoes are the ones that are hitting the thin carpet much harder than the other lad's.  _Clumsy baby deer,_ Louis thinks as he slows his steps long enough for the two to catch up to him. Oddly enough, Harry stays behind the two of them instead of falling into step. 

Silence settles around them as Nick checks them out of their room and leads them out to the car. The air is brisk in the early light and winter morning, little steams of sun dusting the tops of every surface. Graciously, Harry lifts their bags into the back of the car and even offers to sit with his own suitcase in the backseat when it doesn't fit into the trunk with the others. There's only the quiet hum of the engine as Nick turns the car onto the  _A4_ and Harry taps softly on his phone. 

"So, from Wales?" Louis supplies after sitting with his head pounding a little too mercilessly in the glow of the day. If he wishes for the dimly lit rain of the previous city well, no one really needs to know that he might just be that pitiful.

The phone Harry's been messing with clatters to the floor as he startles, "Oh, um, yes. Wales, yes. I'm from Wales."

Louis rolls his eyes just a little before he turns in his spot in the front seat to face Harry, "So, are you in year ten or something?" He figures he might as well watch the nervous squirming Harry manages to contort his body into instead of focusing on the nausea that's beginning to churn in his stomach. His organs could definitely use a little bit of a break.

Shaking his head, Harry stares intently at where his phone has fallen, "Sixth form."

"He's seventeen, darling," Nick chirps. 

"Why were you talking to him last night anyway?" Louis sighs into the headrest of his seat. The fabric smells damp and he's a little glad that they're returning the rental car before it really does start to smell too much like mildew. 

Nick props his cheek up on his palm as he rests his elbow on the window sill, "I do have a job to do on this trip, you know. I interviewed him because he's following the band, if you don't remember." His hazel stare drifts away from the road to scowl at Louis for a moment before he grins back at Harry.

 _Bastard,_ Louis grimaces. "Well, since I wasn't awake when said interview was occurring, why don't you enlighten me as to who you are," his tone may be a bit biting but bile is beginning to rise in his throat and a proper distraction would actually be really, really great. The collar of his sweater is starting to feel a tiny bit too tight and Harry's eyes are definitely the wrong shade of green to focus on, so Louis traces the curves of the curls the hang just over Harry's forehead.

"I'm just from a small town and I have a sister, there isn't much else to tell," Harry stumbles through the words.

Louis briefly wonders if Harry's voice is just as much like syrup to his ears as it is to Harry's throat. "Younger or older?" he prompts as he runs a hand through his damp hair, it feels sickeningly clammy against his forehead.

"She's older and goes to uni in the city," Harry manages and really he isn't helping Louis in any manner. The fact that he requires Louis' constant encouraging is too taxing and maybe the silence wasn't all that horrible. Surprisingly enough, as Louis considers just shutting his eyes and dozing for the remaining hours of the trip, Harry continues, "She's studying in a Pre-Med program, wants to be one of those doctors that go to third world countries. She's real great, a laugh." There's a ghosting of a smile that tugs up the corners of his pink lips and he looks a little fond but the feeling doesn't reach his eyes, doesn't reduce them to little slivers of green.

Nodding a little before deciding the movement doesn't help the churning of his stomach, "I've got sisters too. Four of them actually, but I don't see them much. I don't know what they want to be or what they want to do. So, that must be nice. What do you want to be Harry?"

Harry seems caught off guard, his eyes widening beneath the attention, "Well, I..."

"Don't ask him questions like he's a new addition to your primary school class, Tomlinson," Nick grumbles and really, fuck him.

"Maybe you should pay more attention to the road than our conversation," Louis huffs wrapping his arm around the headrest to keep himself from falling when Nick swerves the car mockingly. He has to close his eyes for a moment to steady the turning in his chest and there's a desperate plea, a  _please, I'm really going to be sick and it's going to be unpleasant for all of us,_ on his tongue that just isn't willing to warn Nick. His brows furrow for a moment as a set of cold fingers card through his fringe and tuck it away from his face. The touch is nice and settles the uneasiness in his skin, but Nick isn't that kind and those fingers aren't his own so. He opens his eyes to see Harry staring back at him.

As he carefully retracts his hand, albeit quickly, Harry curls into himself. "Sorry," he stammers, tucking his hands between his long legs and bowing his head a little. 

For a few seconds, Louis merely looks at him before turning back around in his seat and pulling out his phone. There are other things he needs to do, other people he needs to worry about instead of the stranger with the curls and the gentle fingers, and he's definitely going to focus on doing them. So, he forces his fingers to move and he calls Niall, choosing to finally acknowledge the guilt of the fact that he hasn't properly checked on his formerly bed ridden benefactor since he left Manchester. The phone rings five times before Louis almost gives up and Niall answers. "Hey, not dead I see," Louis prattles by way of greeting.

Nick turns up the radio --  _"I was left to my own devices, many days fell away with nothing to show" --_ and Louis thinks it might be so that they don't have to hear his conversation or maybe so that it doesn't have to be so awkward as he talks. 

"Not yet, no," is all Niall responds with, his voice soft and heavy through the receiver. 

The shortness probably shouldn't concern Louis as much as it does, but he can almost feel the stiff sadness in Niall's voice, maybe Louis' projecting his misery a little. "You alright?" he asks after a small beat of silence, wondering if Niall's ever been so quiet in the time that they have known each other. In the space of seconds it takes his friend to respond, Louis realizes the answer is  _no._

"I'm," Niall starts with a forced lift of his voice, an attempt at convincing Louis that he really is  _fine._ Louis isn't stupid though, at least not this form of stupid. "I'm taking Amy to dinner. You know, Amy from the bakery you like?" he takes in a sharp breath and Louis can hear the nervous fidgeting of Niall's fingers as he grips the phone.

It takes Louis a little while to place that name with a particular face, not that it should even matter really because what is Niall even on about? "I mean, that sounds great," Louis begins, his fingers drumming on his knee as silence settles around the car, just the music --  _"How am I going to be an optimist about this?" --_ plays. "You don't sound excited about it though, mate. Maybe I'm wrong but I thought that you liked..."

"Maybe I'm just tired of waiting for something that isn't going to come around," Niall interrupts, his voice dropping into a softer tone and it sounds so battered, so weak.

"Niall..." Louis stops, his throat tightening around any words he might have thought to be sufficient before. 

His friend coughs dryly, "It's... Just don't, okay Lou? It's time to move on and okay, maybe that really kind of is super shit, but I just... I can't keep..."

"Hey, hey... I get it. I understand. If this is what you want then, you know, I completely support you," Louis breathes around the rocks filling his lungs, and okay, he really doesn't support this decision. He knows it hurts though, has seen how much it pains Niall, even if the honesty of it only comes through when Niall's two pints passed gone. "Do what's best for you," he continues to the tune of Niall's stilted breathing. 

"Thanks, Lou," Niall quietly replies. "Have a few shots on me tonight," he tries to laugh and Louis thinks that the sound makes his stomach twist more violently than Nick's horrid driving.

There are several streams of thought filtering through Louis' head, the amount of annoyance he feels toward his brooding friends, the idea of Niall going on a date with a plucky, morning girl, and of how he just misses home. "It'll work out" Louis tells him after a moment. He's not sure who he's trying to convince.

"Yeah, I know it will," Niall agrees, although Louis highly doubts that he actually does. "I'm gonna go, alright?"

"Course," Louis sighs before Niall hangs up and he realizes he didn't even get to ask if his friend was feeling any better. He lets the phone drop onto his lap before pushing his fingers through his hair, it doesn't feel as nice as when Harry did it. Louis groans at the thought and Nick laughs.

Turning the radio --  _"Tonight, I'm in love with everybody on the city bus. I feel the push and pull, keep saying that it doesn't mean much" --_ down to a low hum, Nick queries, "How is Niall?" Maybe Nick is just friendly to everyone but Louis.

"Going on a date with the girl from the bakery," Louis mumbles, the words bitter on his tongue or maybe that's the vomit again.

"What's," Harry starts from the backseat, his voice unsure. Maybe he just wants to be included. Louis thinks it's a trick to make him look more harmless, it's probably working. "What's wrong with that?"

The easiest way to explain the situation is to pull up Niall's contact information photo. It's an image from about a month before with Niall curled into Zayn's coat, his rosy cheeks just barely visible with his grin from where his face is tucked into Zayn's neck. "This is what's wrong with that," Louis frowns, showing the photo first to Nick and then to Harry. This is a deciding moment about Harry, Louis thinks, because if he reacts badly then Louis will have a proper reason to glare at his presence. Although, if Harry didn't have a problem climbing into bed with Louis then there really isn't a reason for him to have anything against the idea of Zayn and Niall. "Niall's the blond," Louis clarifies as Harry takes the phone to look a little closer at the small screen, he must really, really need those glasses.

"What happened between them?" Harry questions, clearing his throat a little like the words are hard to force out.

"Nothing," the corner of Nick's mouth quirks into a grimace to the tune of _"oh, we won't last long but we're giving it our best shot."_ Turning the car onto a larger highway, the scenery a little familiar now, Nick sighs, "The other one is just undeclared."

Louis snorts at that.

"Undeclared?" Harry repeats.

"Zayn's not undeclared," Louis rolls his eyes. "He's just not good with relationships or seeing what's clearly in front of his stupid face. He's going to let Niall go though, too. He's not going to stop him or tell him that he loves him in the forms of literary wit and Niall's not going to serenade him with the lyrics of Lewis Watson or something like Justin Bieber. They're probably finished if Amy's good enough," he leans on the center console to look back at Harry. "If you find someone who's going to love you as much as this kid loves Zayn, don't let them go."

Nick switches the radio station --  _"Now they're going to bed and my stomach is sick" --_  before Louis can continue, "Like you're the guru of romanticism, you drunkard." 

A little laugh flits from the backseat and Louis just barely catches the smile on Harry's face before it's hidden behind a large hand, it's really, really _pretty_. "Is he laughing at me?" Louis gapes, glancing between Harry and Nick. 

"You deserve to be laughed at, love," Nick tells him.

Scrunching up his nose and crossing his arms across his chest, Louis sinks back into his seat. One stupidly, dangerous, young boy in the backseat with gangly limbs and another stupid, prattish, smug bastard driving the car. Some things just aren't right with the world anymore and that isn't fair. Louis needs alcohol. Louis might have a few problems. 

It's three hours and two attempted cat naps later that Louis catches Harry humming along to  _"our fate comes strolling in like a storm sooner or later, trying to swim but you're sinking like a stone alone."_ The sound is low and practiced, just a little rough around the edges with his young age. Louis thinks Nick hears it too, following the little glances that Nick gives the rearview mirror as he discreetly turns down the radio just a little. " _And I can feel the fire in the night waiting here. Baby, it's like we're walking on a wire through the fear. Take my hand, we'll get there..."_ Harry hums, his lips parted just a little with the words as he stares out the window.  _  
_

He needs to stop being so endearing. Louis thinks it's better that way for his sanity and well, other things. "Didn't include that you could sing in your bio," Louis breaks the quiet.

Harry startles, a blush coming up to his cheeks as he looks back at Louis. "Oh, I don't," he stumbles, his fingers fidgeting again.

"Humility is unattractive," Nick interjects.

"No it isn't," Louis scowls at him.

With a nervous hand, Harry reaches passed the both of them to turn up the radio while they merely stare at him. "I like this song," he reasons weakly before settling back into his seat and crossing his legs beneath him.

Louis watches him and frowns a little when Harry offers up a wobbling smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes like the one from before did. Louis wonders if he should have paid attention to it more carefully, tucked the image away into his memory beside the fuzzy memories of a warm, solid body next to his own with the name  _Harry_ sketched into the frame. Pinching at the bridge of his nose, Louis knocks his head against the window. He really hates how easily Harry just sort of fits in, his presence just simple enough to slip into Louis and Nick's mess like he belongs after only a few misguided hours. He needs to have a serious conversation with Drunk Louis about dragging in endearing boys with stupidly sweet faces and pretty smiles. Also, he needs to ask him why he hasn't been able to drag any in before. Drunk Louis has definitely had one too many nights in dirty bathroom stalls with boys that aren't willing to give equally if they're even into boys in the first place. "Drunk Louis," Louis sighs belatedly.

"Regret?" Nick offers with a laugh. "I like this one," he continues pointing a thumb back at Harry. "Tell Drunk Louis I said thanks."

There's no need for Louis to turn in his seat, he just  _knows_ that Harry is probably blushing again. "Fuck off," Louis growls.

An hour and a half later, they're finally dropping Harry off at the train station. The quiet smiles that graced Harry's lips are for the most part gone or stiff if there at all as he climbs out of the car. Nick helps him get his bag from the boot and frowns at Louis when he gets back into the car, Harry's already heading off toward the ticket booth. "Could have at least said goodbye," Nick shifts the car back into drive, heading toward the  _Hertz_ car rental facility that shouldn't be too far off. "He's a good kid. He was even going to take your drunk arse back to the hotel himself before I stopped to help him."

Frowning, Louis glances at Harry's retreating form. "I'll probably run into him in Amsterdam. Just tell him thanks then," he replies. Nick shouldn't be able to make him feel guilty, but he knows that he can be a handful when he's drunk and maybe even a little handsy. He lets out a sigh and runs his fingers through the dry stands of his hair. 

"You didn't really think he was dangerous, did you?" Nick questions long after they have returned the car and are now lounging around the terminal waiting for their flight to board.

"You never know," Louis shrugs, taking a bite of the bagel he picked up from one of the overpriced airport vendors. He involuntarily wonders what Zayn's been eating for the last few days and about what he's doing now.  _Probably at that damn window running through his cigarettes like lollies_ , Louis thinks with a painful twist of his lungs. "Like I said before there was an eleven year old little girl named Mary Bell that killed two toddlers with her bare hands and mutilated them with safety scissors. Anyone can commit a crime," he tacks on.

Nick merely rolls his eyes back at him and swipes a bit of cream cheese from Louis' bagel before licking it off his thumb. "I told him that he could hang out with us, if he wanted," he adds, reaching for more cream cheese before Louis swats at him.

"I thought you didn't want to babysit anyone," Louis huffs out a laugh.

The look on Nick's face levels him out a bit, "He's going to nineteen shows by himself, Louis. Give him a break. I think you would like him, already do actually, if you would take your stubborn head out of the ground."

 _By himself._ "Fine," Louis shrugs, pulling out his ticket and throwing his backpack over his shoulder when the intercom announces boarding for their evening flight to  _Amsterdam_. 

"He's actually sort of funny, that stupid, horribly punny sort of funny," Nick adds glancing up from his phone.

"How would you know?" Louis looks over his shoulder to catch Nick typing out a text just as the gate attendant wishes him a  _"pleasant flight, monsiour."_  

Holding up his phone, Nick shrugs, "Got his number, jealous?"

"Idiot," Louis huffs proceeding to take the window seat in their designated row once they've boarded.

"Flattery will get you nowhere with me, darling," Nick laughs from beside him, taking the other seat and stuffing his bag underneath the one in front of him.

With a little sigh, Louis builds the best invisible wall that he can between himself and Nick before taking out his own phone. He types out a small message for Zayn,  _I don't know what all you know about where Niall is tonight. Just make sure he's okay, yeah?_  Before adding, _p_ _ut down the lighter babe, you'll be okay too._

Just as the flight attendants start to tell everyone to turn off their electronics, a message comes through, vibrating against Louis' palm.  _It's weird that things fall apart without you here, isn't it?_ _  
_

Louis turns his face into his coat and closes his eyes tightly as he shuts his phone off. It shouldn't be like that. He makes things break, always has, the vase in the hall that he would blame on the cat, his mum's heart and probably his sisters... Louis doesn't hold things together, he would be horrible at it. _I'll be home soon,_ he thinks anyway, quietly hoping that somewhere back in a busy city, in that crummy flat, Zayn will know that he misses being there to lighten him up. For the remainder of the flight, Louis thinks about the three boys waiting for him back in _Manchester_ , about his sisters that are too far for him to reach, and about that warm boy with the green eyes and the pretty smile that he owes a chance to.

When they're retrieving their bags from the luggage carousel, Nick nudges Louis' side. "Want to meet Dan and the guys tomorrow?" he asks. He's eyeing Louis' like he might run away at any moment and Louis sort of feels like he should at the offer. 

"You sure?" Louis asks in surprise, tugging his suitcase off of the conveyor belt. 

Nodding with the little tufts of his quiff flopping about, Nick shrugs his slender shoulders, "Yeah. I figure I should let you before I ship you back to Manchester out of hate."

For a long while, Louis just grins and openly chooses to ignore Nick's threat. "You're being nice to me," Louis pretends to make grabby hands at Nick for a hug.

"Taking pity on you," Nick clarifies, moving out of Louis' reach. "You look like someone has kicked several puppies and kittens, maybe set fire to an orphanage too."

"I don't even care about the words coming out of your mouth right now," Louis' grin widens as he follows Nick out to the taxi lines. "I'm gonna meet Dan Reynolds..."

After Nick comes to a dead halt in front of Louis, he turns on his heel to jab at Louis' chest. "You're going to meet him and be sober whilst doing so. I can't get kicked off this press promotional trip," he hisses before turning right back around and waiting for the next available taxi. 

Louis tries really hard to care about those words, he does, but  _Dan Reynolds_ and okay this is just a little light in his day. He'll call Zayn afterwards and he'll distract his friend with tales about how Zayn owes Louis money because Louis' going to be in touching distance of the lead singer. Reynold's marriage be damned, Louis' probably going to kiss him. 

"Oh, Harry's going in with us tomorrow, too," Nick adds when they're checking in at their hotel a little less than an hour later, the night having already swallowed down the day. 

"What's he doing tonight? We should take him down to the Red Light District," Louis laughs, pulling one of the brochures from the stand by the check in desk. There's a scantily clad woman on the front fold, her tan hands threaded through her brown waves as she eyes whoever took the photograph. The girl reminds him hazily of Eleanor and he frowns a little.

Tutting, Nick climbs the stairs ahead of Louis with his bag in tow. "Don't you like boys?" Nick questions loudly.

"The Red Light District is famous, it would be a shame to not go see it when we even have an extra day here to do so," Louis insists. "And, I bet Harry hasn't seen naked women in windows before," he adds like it matters. He knows Harry isn't even half way to  _Amsterdam_ yet.

"Fine," Nick sighs, unlocking their room and dropping his suitcase by one of the small twin beds. They really need to discuss their room choices. "We can go down to the Red Light District for a little while since I don't have to drive at all tonight or tomorrow." Louis knows he's agreeing more because he doesn't want to hear Louis whine more than anything else. 

They leave their bags and tug on warmer coats and scarves before catching a taxi to the edge of the district. There's a warm red glow lighting up the night from the neon signs that line the buildings. Windows are carved into nearly every available, lower level floor and most are like little boxes. Adult boxes that contain red curtains and beautiful women in little clothing, if they're wearing any at all, that sit on wooden chairs.

"That can't be comfortable," Louis breathes quietly, taking in a young woman with her bare chest pressed to the glass where an older gentleman stands on the opposite side. The neon sign above the windows reads  _Live Porno Inside_ in large letters. 

"He'll go inside though, just watch," Nick whispers back to him, ducking his head a little to reach Louis' ear. 

The man at the glass seems to hesitate, casting a glance down the rest of the strip. Louis wonders what he's looking for, maybe something better or maybe a reason that he shouldn't go in.  _You're already here, aren't you?_ Louis watches as the woman smiles at the man, pressing a lipstick smothered kiss to the glass before she leans away and the man ducks his head, heading into the building without another glance at escape. 

"Would you like a peep, Mr. English?" a purring accent reaches Louis ears and the breath of the words curls against Louis' skin like sticky smoke. There's a girl standing in front of him now batting her mascara coated eyelashes at him like she isn't meant to do anything else. Her long blonde hair hangs over her shoulders and covers her chest. Louis blankly wonders if there's anything else covering her beneath those curls. He doubts it. "Only one hundred seventy pounds, Mr. English. I'll let you touch," she smiles at Louis, reaching out a dainty hand to circle his wrist. 

"Oh," Louis manages and he might hear Nick laughing. He sort of hopes he does, hopes Nick will laugh this little girl away.

She takes Louis' hand gently and begins pulling him toward one of the other brightly lit buildings, _Red Lighters_. Her heels click against the pavement like the seconds that pass and from this side of her, Louis can see that there is only string holding up the front piece of her bottoms. 

"Miss," Louis stumbles. "Miss," he tries again a little more insistently. His fringe is falling in his eyes and Nick is probably recording this mess to show to Niall when they get back to _Manchester_. Louis can't even blame it on being drunk. 

The girl turns just a little, coming to a stop in the street with her hand still tucked into Louis'. Her skin is cold beneath his and he wonders how they survive the winter without wearing clothes. "Mr. English?" she says sweetly. "This is your first time? It's okay, see?" she asks, gently taking his hand and raising it to her breast. It's soft beneath his hand and he hasn't touched a girl like this since primary school and there was nothing to really even touch then. Plus, her hair is definitely the only thing covering her nipples. 

"I'm not..." he stammers, pulling his hand back a little. "Men."

Nick's definitely laughing now. 

"Men?" she repeats, tilting her head and reaching for Louis' hand again. He can only hope that she knows more english than what she's been saying because otherwise Louis' at a loss. He might have to run. "Am I not pretty enough?" she doesn't look offended and Louis sort of feels like he's ordering from a catalogue.  _Fanny number three please,_ his stomach turns unpleasantly. 

"No, no. Uh, very pretty," Louis pulls his hands completely away from her and glances about for a way out. He suddenly feels like the man in front of the window. "Gay," he blurts, pointing to himself.

A warmer, larger hand slips into Louis' as a coy voice explains, "Boyfriends." Nick stands at his side with a grin creasing his lips like he's trying so hard to tuck it away, to grimace at this poor girl. 

"Ah, boyfriends," she nods her head. "Four hundred pounds for Mr. English and boyfriend," she reaches for the both of them before Nick begins leading Louis away.

"Sorry, sweetheart," Nick calls over Louis' head, still gripping Louis' hand tightly. 

There's a flush on Louis' cheeks that he tries so desperately to hide in the scarf around his neck. "I touched it," he murmurs weakly.

"That you did," Nick agrees as they continue down the strip.

They watch in silence as men and women alike are stolen away from their lives for a moment to purchase a bit of something else, _someone_ else. They follow the windows into halls that lead to darker alleys where young women and men offer themselves up for low prices and allow strangers warm touches or homes for the night. The sick feeling in Louis' chest grows as they continue to reach the end of the Red Light District, the young peoples' faces beginning to blur into two familiar boys. He sees himself in the eyes of a young man with tan skin and blue eyes too much like his own, and he sees Zayn in the smoke filtering through a window where music plays too loudly. He wonders how easily this could have been them, what would have happened to them if they had turned to this. 

"Ready to head back?" Nick asks after a long expanse of quiet. They've reached the end now, only finding a few closed curtain windows and lingering prostitutes. 

"Yeah," Louis says quietly. He wishes Harry were here, not for the purpose of Harry actually being here but because it would have been more fun, would have been more laughable. He tries to imagine Harry's flushed cheeks and second-hand embarrassment but all Louis sees is grey.  _Grey, lonely color,_ he thinks as he pulls his hand out of Nick's to tuck it into his coat pocket. "Is Harry here, yet?" he questions as Nick hails a wandering taxi. 

Looking down at Louis curiously, Nick nods, "I think his train should have come in not too long ago. Why? Miss your bed buddy?"

"No," Louis scoffs. He just needs entertainment in the form of clumsiness and something that reminds him of his friends, that easy comfort and presence. "I'm going to get him drunk so I can see what kind of drunk he is. That way, I can get him drunk again tomorrow and be drunk vicariously through him," Louis clarifies once he's tucked into the cab. He can still feel cold fingers around his wrist and sticky breath on his cheek. He wishes he wasn't so tactile.

"I'll tell him," Nick laughs before typing away on his phone.

The taxi drops them off at their hotel after driving them by a liquor store and when Louis looks up, Harry is standing nervously outside the doors. He looks like he might be shivering a bit, curling into himself like he's searching for some sort of internal flame. "Told me I was loitering," Harry bites his lip as he motions back toward the hotel with a head movement that makes his curls fall over his face.  _Stupidly endearing,_ Louis thinks.

"Loitering," Nick repeats as if the word may have burned his soul. "So, they made you stand outside in the cold? Horrible establishment they have here," he huffs, throwing an arm around Harry's shaking shoulders and pulling him toward the door.

Louis follows tiredly behind them, brown bags of vodka and some cheap Coca Cola rip off soda tucked in his arms. 

"I have a good story to tell you about little Lou," Nick is saying to Harry when they climb the steps. "So, we went to the Red Light District..."

"Nick," Louis tries to warn but he's more begging now, just worn down a little with everything catching up from the day. He might be meeting Dan Reynolds tomorrow but if that's the only candle to his looming clouds then he might as well just snuff out the fire. 

Harry glances at him from where Nick's arm is causing him to slouch a little. His lips are parted as if he has words that he might want to say, questions he might want to ask but the sounds aren't there, just silence. "I don't want to hear about it," Harry quietly announces when they reach the hotel room. His green eyes are still on Louis as a small smile exposes the makings of a dimple in his left cheek. 

"Fine, I'll tell Niall about it then. I wanted to call him to hear about his date anyway," Nick mumbles, dropping his arm from Harry's shoulders before tugging off his own coat and scarf. 

There's a little bit of surprise simmering under Louis' skin as he watches Harry look away and push his suitcase against the far wall. "Let's... Shots," Louis stammers, unsure of what else to do. He drapes his coat and scarves on the twin bed by the window before unpacking the cheap, plastic shot glasses they bought at the liquor store. He sets out a green one as well as a blue one and a purple one for Nick before he fills them up to their brims. Out of the corner of his eye, Louis can see Harry watching him, the nervous fidgeting of his fingers drumming a pattern against the small table where Louis has placed the shot glasses. "Have you ever had vodka before?" Louis asks softly, not lifting his stare from the colored things. He doesn't want to make Harry squirm, not over this at least.

"No," Harry answers quietly, his drumming stilling for the moment. 

"Do you want to?" Louis does look up this time wanting to see if there's any hesitation. He follows the slants of his eyebrows to the little crease between them to trail down the slope of his nose and lastly to his lips. There's no change in his expression other than that he looks a little thoughtful. "I did tell Nick I wanted to get you drunk for my own amusement, but no pressure," he continues flatly, quirking an eyebrow and rearranging the placement of the glasses as Nick comes over with his phone pressed to his ear.

Nick grabs the purple one before disappearing to the bathroom where he shuts the door to the words "Niall, come on. Out with it..."

"I'll try it," Harry laughs a little, the sound more open as he takes the blue glass before Louis can. 

"This is cheap vodka," Louis warns, frowning as he reaches for the green one. "You took mine by the way," he says before he tips the liquid into his mouth and swallows around the burn. It isn't flavored and he had a hard time reading the label with the way his contacts have dried uncomfortably, but it's at least definitely some sort of vodka. 

A blush creeps over Harry's cheeks as he looks down at the glass and Louis wonders if the color deepens when he's drunk. "I like blue," Harry might be pouting as he begins lifting the little shot to his nose. He cringes at the smell and Louis laughs at him.

"Come on," Louis sniffs around a snicker as he pours himself another. "Down with it and keep it down."

Nodding his head, Harry does as he's told and well, that's -- Louis' going to pretend that Harry isn't good at obeying because it's been awhile for Louis and getting drunk to the thoughts of Harry waiting for him to be told what to do probably isn't a good way to start the night. Harry grimaces, his face scrunching up and he lifts a hand to his mouth as if it might not stay down, but he swallows again. "Well, that's," Harry coughs a little, his lips curled down. He holds out his glass all the same and Louis counts that as a win.

"Cheap and nasty," Louis grins brightly at him as he fills up Harry's glass. Harry isn't Niall, he'll definitely be tripping up after the third shot, and he isn't Zayn, he'll probably keep asking for another even when he knows he can't take it. He might be close to Liam, warm smile and bright eyes but Liam wouldn't even touch the stuff so. Harry really isn't like any of his boys but for now Harry is good enough. "So, tell me about the conquests of young Harry."

With a weak smile, the grimace still pressing unpleasant lines into his cheeks, Harry pauses. "I don't really do very much," he replies thoughtfully. "I spend most of my time in the library and focusing on my studies so that I can get out, you know?" he looks up at Louis, green eyes searching. 

"Yeah," Louis agrees and he does know the feeling, the wanting to be something different or better than what others have settled for. He knocks his cup gently against Harry's, careful not to cause any of it to slosh out before he tosses the liquid into the back of his throat. "What do you want to be, Harry? You never answered before."

"I used to want to be a singer," Harry ducks his head to say. 

Louis points a finger at the tip of Harry's nose as the other boy laughs, "I knew it. See! You knew you were good. Take your shot, you dirty liar."

"Sorry," Harry smiles and bless him, he really does look like he feels bad as he takes his shot. He sputters a bit but continues on, his voice a little rougher around the edges, "That was when I was little. I wanted to have a band and to tour... Things like that. Then, my mum got remarried and things just sort of changed. I'm going to be studying law when and if I get into university." 

Pouring their new shots, Louis nods along, "Step parents suck."

"He meant well. He just changed things too. What was important before he came, like actually being a family and just..." Harry stops for a moment to take the drink when Louis points to it. "They just weren't important after they got married," Harry finishes on a shrug and Louis leans over to smooth out the crease between his eyebrows. A laugh falls from Harry's lips at the touch and Louis sort of wants to keep him laughing.

The next round of vodka sits heavily in Louis' chest so he lets them take a break and he has a feeling that Harry won't tell him if he isn't up to another one. So, really the pause is for the better of everyone involved, including the carpet. "So, are there any lovely girls in your life, Harry?" Louis asks, focusing on the bow of Harry's lips to keep himself steady, the tipsiness beginning to catch him. He can tell it's already dragging Harry into the pits of drunkenness, if the rose of his cheeks is any hint. 

"No, no girls," Harry lets his head loll to the side as he stares back at Louis. His back is pressed up against Louis' bed while Louis leans against the table's wooden legs. "There is this boy though."

With a raise of his eyebrows, Louis grins, "Elaborate? Christ, your words come slower and slower with alcohol."

A laugh bubbles from Harry's lips and Louis has to close his eyes for a moment. "His name is Wes -- Wesley," Harry stumbles with the name. "We're not dating but," he smiles when he looks up at Louis. There's a red rim to his eyes as a few dainty tears slip over his cheeks.

Louis stills, his hand mid reach for the bottle of vodka. "But what?" he asks quietly.

"He just likes to fuck me. That's it," Harry laughs again, the sound is painful but he's still smiling. 

There are few things that Louis doesn't know how to deal with and this is one of them. He doesn't know how to comfort Harry. Niall likes to have a cuddle when he's crying. Louis will go out with Liam for a run if things are too much in the Payne realm even though Louis is definitely not much of a runner. If Zayn's crying, it's fucking World War Malik and Louis offers up Niall as well as Liam and a box of cigarette cartons. Harry though, Louis doesn't know how to deal with Harry. So, he grabs the vodka bottle by the neck and crawls across the carpet until his thigh is right up against Harry's and he pours the boy another shot. "Arsehole, he is, yeah?" Louis offers, setting his own glass aside. 

"I think I kind of love him," Harry drags his sleeve over his eyes. Louis wishes the smile would fade from his face, it just looks painful and like maybe Harry doesn't really realize what he's saying. 

"Now you're just drunk," Louis tries to laugh, lifting the little blue glass to Harry's lips and waiting for him to swallow it before Louis fills it again.

Harry's head falls to Louis' shoulder and he's quiet for a long time, just sitting there and holding his little blue shot glass in his two large hands like he might drop it if he doesn't. 

Following the curls across Harry's forehead, Louis watches the younger boy. He never really noticed but now that he can openly look, just observe Harry's face, he can see that his skin is soft, smooth and fresh. There aren't many lines of worry or frustration biting into his cheeks or the little space between his eyebrows. Louis might be drunk but he's happy to see that there is still some innocence in the world, if only in Harry. He just hopes that this boy of Harry's won't ruin him, won't take that little bit of innocence from him because Harry's already a little broken. "There are better people out there and I'm sure you deserve the best," Louis tells Harry's curls, hoping the tangles will hold the words so Harry will remember them.

"Now you're just drunk," Harry parrots with a laugh, his nose bumping Louis' jaw just a little as he shifts.

With a small smile, Louis pokes the little dimple in Harry's left cheek, "Take your shot."

Harry tosses it back without a protest and his nose only scrunches a little. "I don't think I like vodka," he says seriously.

The laugh that leaves Louis' lips is loud and warm in his chest, "Is your protest just now catching up six shots late?"

"Probably," Harry admits just as the bathroom door opens and Nick emerges.

"Gimme," Nick scowls at them, pulling the bottle from Louis' fingers and taking their glasses. He takes three long pulls from the bottle before he sets it down on the table, choosing to take the one table chair instead of sitting on the floor.

 _Prat_ , Louis thinks. "How's Niall?" Louis tries to focus on Nick's eyes but the fabric of his trousers is definitely easier.

"Niall's  _date_ ," Harry corrects.

Eyeing them both warily, Nick sighs and leans against the tabletop, "Niall said his date went really well. Amy's lovely. Lovely hair, lovely eyes, lovely smile. Sounds like a lot of bull shit, but he sounded happier at least. They just went to a movie and some little restaurant near the city center. He mentioned Zayn called him a few times."

"Plot twist!" Harry grins into Louis' shoulder.

Shrugging his free shoulder a little, Louis merely nods his head. "Not a plot twist. He would have probably just tried to talk about things like work or the last footie game," Louis rests his chin on Harry's curls. They're just so  _soft,_ so who could really blame him.

Apparently, Nick. "Handsy," Nick rolls his eyes at them. "Point is, they will probably go on another date."

With a small groan, Louis scrubs a hand over his face. If his fingers land on Harry's shoulder well, Nick can suck it and he'll blame it on the alcohol. 

When they give up on proper conversation, Louis stands Harry up and helps him onto the twin bed by the window while Nick turns on the small television in the corner of the room. He settles into the bed beside Harry with his back to him and focuses on the dancing colors flickering across the screen. It looks like early morning, children's television but Louis can't really tell. 

Silence falls around the room as Nick climbs into his own bed, flipping off the lamplight as he does. "If he gets sick, you're cleaning it up," Nick mumbles from beneath his duvet.

Louis merely laughs and closes his eyes to the sound of the television. Harry's hand comes to rest on Louis' waist, his fingers trembling over the small expanse of skin before Louis feels Harry's nose at the back of his neck. The touch is cold but Louis doesn't make him move, just breathes quietly while Harry puffs out little breaths against his skin. He lifts his hand and places it over the one Harry has on his waist, he waits until the trembling subsides before he laces his fingers into the boy's. 

"Thank you," Harry whispers quietly into his skin. 

"Goodnight, Harry," Louis whispers back.

_**"I'm sorry mother, I'm sorry I let you down. Well, these days I'm fine - No, these days I tend to lie." Amsterdam by Imagine Dragons** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so, this chapter turned into a very, very long thing. So, I decided to split it into two parts, ie. the Louis part and the Harry part. Anywho, follow me on tumblr for updates and things like that, or just come and talk to me because I LOVE EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU. 
> 
> Follow me here: thatkaitykid.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> Keep up with the updates by following: thatkaitykid.tumblr.com


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